LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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FLEET STREET, AND HANOVER STREET, 
LONDON, MDCCCXLVIII. 



Chapters! on jriotoerg* 



BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH. 



SEVENTH EDITION. 



luU%$. 



FLEET STREET, and HANOVER STREET ; 
LONDON I MDCCCXLVIII. 



Tax B" 



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" Gift " 
Herbert Pell > 
March 18, 1943 



I. SEELET, THAMES DITTON, SUERET. 






CONTENTS. 



23 



PAGE 

CHAPTER .1. THE SNOW-DROP • 1 

II. THE FURZE-BUSH 17 

III. THE SHAMROCK - 31 

IV. THE HEART'S-EASE - - - - - 46 
V. THE HAWTHORN 58 

VI. THE WHITE ROSE .... - 70 

VII. THE CARNATION - - - - - 80 

VIII. THE EVENING PRIMROSE - 90 

IX. THE VINE - - 101 

X. THE HEART'S-EASE - - - - - 112 

XI. THE LAURISTINUS - 125 

XII. THE HOLLY-BUSH 136 

XIII. THE CHRISTMAS ROSE - - - - 147 

XIV. THE PURPLE CROCUS - - - - 159 
XV. THE HYACINTH - - - - - - 169 

XVI. THE HEART'S-EASE - - - - - 186 

XVII. THE RANUNCULUS - - - . . 197 

XVIII. THE GARDEN - - - - - - 210 

XIX. THE JESSAMINE 223 

XX. THE PASSION-FLOWER - - - - 234 

XXI. THE LEMON-PLANT - - 247 

XXII. THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH . - 260 

XXIII. THE GUERNSEY LILY - - . - 273 

XXIV. THE IVY 286 

XXV. THE AMARANTHUS 300 

XXVI. THE LILY OF THE VALLEY - - - 311 




THE SNOW-DROP. 



Pa<?el 



CHAPTERS ON FLOWERS. 



CHAPTER I. 



THE SNOW-DROP. 



Botany is doubtless a very delightful study ; but 
a botanical treatise is one of the last things that I 
should be found engaged in. Truth shall be told : 
my love of flowers — for each particular petal — is 
such, that no thirst after scientific knowledge could 
ever prevail upon me to tear the beautiful objects 
in pieces. I love to see the bud bursting into ma- 
turity ; I love to mark the deepening tints with 
which the beams of heaven paint the expanded 
flower ; nay, with a melancholy sort of pleasure, I 
love to watch that progress towards decay, so en- 
dearingly bespeaking a fellowship in man's transient 
glory ; which, even at its height, is but as " the 
flower of grass." I love to gaze upon these vege- 
table gems — to marvel and adore, that such relics 

B 



THE SNOW-DROP. 



of paradise are yet permitted to brighten a path 
where the iniquity of rebellious sinners has sown 
the thorn and the thistle, under the blighting curse 
of an offended God. Next after the blessed Bible, a 
a flower-garden is to me the most eloquent of books 
— a volume teeming with instruction, consolation, 
and reproof. 

But there is yet another, and somewhat fanciful 
view, that I delight to take of these fair things : my 
course has lain through a busy and a chequered 
path : I have been subjected to many changes of 
place, and have encountered a great variety of char- 
acters, who have passed before me like visions of 
the night, leaving but the remembrance of what 
they were. I have frequently, in my lonely ram- 
bles among the flowers, assimilated one and another 
of them to those unforgotten individuals until they 
became almost identified ; and my garden bears a 
nomenclature which no eye but mine can decypher. 
Yet if the reader be pleased to accompany me into 
this parterre, I will exhibit a specimen or two of 
what I am tempted to call floral biography ; humbly 
trusting that He who commended to our considera- 
tion the growth of the lilies, will be with us, to im- 
part that blessing without which our walks, and 
words, and thoughts, must be alike unprofitable* — 
sinfully vain. 

In glancing around the denuded garden, at this 
chilling season, we can scarcely fail to fix our re- 
gards upon the snow-drop, which bows its trem- 
bling head beneath the blast. Every body loves 



THE SNOW- DROP. ° 

the delicate snow-drop ; I will not stop to repeat 
what lias been often said and sung concerning it, 
but proceed to that of which it is a characteristic 
memento. Merely premising that in this, and every 
subsequent sketch, I shall adhere most strictly to 
simple, unadorned truth. The characters will be 
real, every incident a fact ; and nothing but the 
names withheld. 

It was in dear Ireland, some years ago, that a 
pious clergyman, in reading a letter from a military 
correspondent, pronounced a name familiar to me 
— it was that of one who had been a beloved play- 
mate in my earliest years, of whom I had long lost 
all trace, and who was there represented as having 
died rejoicing in the Lord. A few questions elicited 
the fact of his having entered the army ; that he 
had been stationed in Ireland ; had married an en- 
gaging young lady, and taken her to India ; and 
now, had died in the faith. I soon after learnt that 
the youthful widow was expected, with her mother, 
to settle in that very town, where they had no con- 
nexions, nor could any one assign a reason for their 
choice. 

Months passed away, and I could not ascertain 
that they were arrived ; but one Sunday, long- 
afterwards, on taking my accustomed place at 
church, I found a stranger beside me in the pew, 
whose deep weeds, pallid countenance, and bending 
figure, with the addition of a most distressing cough, 
increased the interest excited by the lowly humility 
of her deportment during prayers, and the earnest - 

B 2 



4 THE SNOW -DROP. 

ness of her attention to the preacher. After quit- 
ting the church, I asked a friend if he knew who 

she was ; he replied, ' The widow of Captain , 

concerning whom you have so often enquired.' 
The next day I went in quest of her, introduced 
myself as the early friend of her departed husband, 
and from that time it seemed as though her only 
earthly enjoyment was to be found in my little 
study. 

Her story was this : she had married while both 
parties were in total ignorance of the gospel ; their 
mutual attachment was excessive, on her part ex- 
travagant. She left the parental roof, and felt no 
grief at quitting it : she accompanied the regiment, 
and found every change agreeable, for still it was 
her privilege to brighten the home of her beloved 
and affectionate husband. He was an amiable 
young man, moral and honourable ; and while 
quartered in that town, he had attended the preach- 
ing of the gospel, little imagining that the warnings 
addressed to unawakened sinners could affect one 
so upright as himself. Yet the word was not lost 
upon him : the good seed sunk into his heart ; and 
soon afterwards it sprang up, beginning to bear 
fruit to the glory of God, 

Theresa's affection was of that kind which is con- 
tent to do, and to be, whatever w T ill best please its 
object. With the same willing and happy acquies- 
cence that had before led her into the revelries of 
the ball-room, did she sit down to read with her 
husband the word of God, or kneel beside him in 



THE SNOW-DROP. 5 

prayer. c The world,' she said, c was pleasant to 
me while he loved it ; and when he forsook it, so 
did I : hut with this awful difference, Frederick 
left the world, because he found its friendship was 
enmity with God ; I turned from it because my 
world was centered in him/ Her husband saw this, 
and earnestly strove to lead her into acquaintance 
with hers.elf, as the necessary prelude to her seek- 
ing the knowledge of the Lord : but in vain — his 
opinions were her's in all matters, and therefore in 
religion ; but her heart was totally unchanged. 

And here I would pause, to impress upon my 
readers, particularly the younger portion of them, 
the necessity for self-examination — constant and 
close — on this momentous point. Too frequently 
is the force of human attachment, the power of 
human influence, mistaken for the effectual work- 
ing of a divine energy in the soul. A favourite 
preacher will sometimes lead captive the imagina- 
tion, or the paramount influence of a beloved ob- 
ject seemingly draw the affections, into that track 
whereon none can truly enter, much less consist- 
ently walk, but by the guidance of the Holy Spirit ; 
and what a catalogue of woes, not always to end 
with the present state of existence, might be exhi- 
bited as resulting from this specious self-deception ! 
" We know," saith the apostle, " that we have 
passed from death unto life, because we love the 
brethren." The test, when rightly applied, is a 
sure one : but we cannot guard too vigilantly 
against that perversion of it to which our deceitful 



THE SNOW-DROP. 



hearts are perpetually prompting us. To love Christ 
in his people, is an evidence of spiritual life ; to 
love Christ for his people, is a delusion, by means 
of which the father of lies seals many to eternal 
death. 

After a few removals, the regiment was ordered 
to India ; and with bitter anguish has my poor 
friend dwelt on the recollection of that year's events. 
The family of her husband being people of rank, 
and wealthy, his outfit was rendered, by his father's 
generosity, a very superior one. Valuable plate, 
and everything that taste could devise for affluence 
to accomplish, was lavished on the young couple ; 
and as Theresa's fondness, in alliance with the 
pride that w r as her natural characteristic, pleaded 
for the display of all that could make her Frederick 
an object of such respect as this world's envy can 
bestow ; she exerted all her influence to draw him 
into society which he felt to be most deadening to 
his spiritual energies, and destructive of the peace 
which he most coveted. Still his affection for her 
was so great as to render her persuasions irresist- 
ible ; and, while the fading of his healthful cheek, 
and increasing pensiveness of his eye, bespoke the 
internal conflict, he yielded to the snare so far as to 
devote many precious hours which might have been 
profitably spent among God's people, to associates 
moral and respectable indeed, but very far removed 
from the ways of godliness. 

Frederick concealed from his wife the extent of 
his sufferings, whilst she thus encouraged the flesh 



THE SNOW-DROP. / 

to lust against the Spirit ; but she could not be 
ignorant of it ; and that knowledge, as she described 
it, only added strength to her endeavours. She was 
conscious of a sort of jealousy, the recollection of 
which overwhelmed her with horror : in the selfish 
indulgence of an inordinate attachment, she felt it 
as a wrong that her husband could love God better 
than he loved her — she sought to rival the Lord, to 
win from Him the allegiance of a soul that He had 
betrothed unto himself : and when, in the fiery fur- 
nace into which she was shortly afterwards put, all 
these things were recalled to mind— set in order be- 
fore her — how fearful were the agonies of her re- 
morseful spirit. If I could display its writhings as 
she described them to me, the warning might be 
salutary to some who are, in like manner, provoking 
the Lord to jealousy, endangering a brother's safety, 
and braving the storm of divine indignation. 

After some months passed in the manner above 
stated, while Frederick . perceptibly drooped more 
and more, under the struggle which divine grace 
enabled him to maintain against temptations, too 
frequently successful, to compromise his Christian 
simplicity of walk and conversation, he appeared 
one day to his anxious wife radiant with joy and 
holy exultation. c Oh, Theresa,' he said, ( what 
can I render unto the Lord for his great benefits ? 
I have long been a wretched prayerless outcast, un- 
able to pour out my soul to him. I have pined 
under the sense of banishment— of deserved exile 
from his presence. I have been forsaking him : 



a THE SNOW-DROP. 

and he almost forsook me. But on this happy 
morning, I have been once more admitted to my 
Father's throne : I have had such enlargement of 
spirit, such freedom in prayer, such a blessed assur- 
ance of his unchangeable love, that surely, surely, he 
will not let me wander any more ! ' She told me 
that his look and manner quite overpowered her 
selfish feelings : she was conscious of the deep 
cruelty of her conduct, in depriving him of such 
peace, such joy ; she even prayed to be kept from a 
repetition of the offence. Her impressions were, 
however, then too weak and transient to have en- 
dured a trial — the Lord wrought, in a way that 
neither of them had anticipated : and on the very 
next day she saw her Frederick laid on the bed of 
dangerous sickness. 

He recovered speedily, so far as to appear out of 
immediate danger; but the medical men pronounced 
it indispensably necessary that he should return to 
his native England without delay ; and, two years' 
leave of absence being granted, they embarked ; her 
fond bosom cherishing the confident expectation of 
his perfect re-establishment. At the Cape they 
made a short stay ; and Frederick appeared so per- 
fectly convalescent, that he seemed beyond the 
reach of a relapse. Alas ! on the very day of their 
quitting that shore, his malady returned with such 
overwhelming violence, that before they had gone 
many leagues of the long homeward voyage, not a 
hope remained of his reaching England alive. 

It was dreadful to see the effort with w T hich that 



THE SNOW-DROP. 9 

broken-hearted creature nerved herself to tell me 
the sequel. Her feet placed on the fender for 
support, knees crushed together, lips strongly com- 
pressed, brows — such beautiful brows ! — bent into 
an expression of sternness, and even the hectic of 
her cheeks fading into ghastly white — all bespoke 
such mental suffering, that I implored her to spare 
herself the recital : but in vain. 

It appeared, that while Frederick, full of joy, lay 
dying in his cabin, the fiery darts of Satan were 
almost all shot into the soul of his distracted wife. 
She told me that she never suffered him to suspect 
it — that she wore an aspect of even cheerful resig- 
nation — and by so doing, increased his happiness. 
But, whenever withdrawn from his sight, the temp- 
est would break forth with such maddening violence, 
that it was astonishing how she could survive the 
paroxysms. Thoughts of blasphemy, the most ap- 
palling, were continually infused into her mind : 
every creature that enjoyed health and cheerfulness 
was to her an object of such bitter envy, that she 
desired their death. And while contrasting the rude 
hilarity of some men upon the deck, who lived in 
open scorn of every divine law, only using the name 
of the Most High in jests or curses, with the wast- 
ing anguish that was dissolving the frame of her 
angelic sufferer in the cabin below — then, impious 
thoughts, wild charges against the mercy, and even 
the justice of the Most High, would shoot through 
her brain, until, loathing them as she did, while 
totally unable to repress them, she was many a time 



10 THE SNOW-DROP. 

on the point of flinging herself into the roaring 
surge beneath. ' And then, to dress my face in 
smiles, to go back to him, and take his hand, and 
tell him that the air had refreshed me — to read the 
word of that God whom I felt that I was defying— 
to kneel in prayer, seemingly a sharer in his beau- 
tiful aspirations of hope and peace, and joy, and 
thankfulness — You know it not — oh, may you never 
know it ! ' 

The closing scene was at hand ; and while she 
hung in quiet despair over his pillow, he told her, 
with a look of sweet sympathy, that the Lord would 
soon bring her to Himself ; but that he saw it need- 
ful first to remove the object of her exclusive attach- 
ment. ' My death will be the means of bringing 
you to Christ ; and Christ's death has opened for 
us both the way to God. Fear not, my beloved 
Theresa — only believe. — We shall sing a new song 
together before the throne of the Lamb.' 

Poor, poor Theresa ! A few days more would 
have brought them to anchor in the English port ; 
and at least she would have been spared the awful 
solitariness that surrounded her, when, without one 
outward solace, she sat watching that lifeless clay, 
extended before her in the calm still beauty of death. 
She described herself as having undergone the most 
extraordinary change, from the moment of his de- 
cease. The smothered tempest under the outbreak- 
ing of which she had expected, and even hoped to 
die, passed away without a single burst. A cold, 
dull quiet endurance succeeded : not jmmixed with 



THE SNOW-DROP. 11 

transient gleams of hope, as his parting words again 
and again passed through her unresisting mind. 
Yet she was roused, by what I can well suppose 
must he one of the most heart-rending sounds per- 
taining to this world of woe — the plash that told 
her when that form, so long and fondly loved, was 
indeed descending into its watery grave — and the 
ship rolled on — and even the eye of such love as 
Theresa's, might never, never catch a trace whereby 
to discern the spot of his obsequies. Ocean w^as his 
tomb : and who should reveal in what chamber of 
the mighty mausoleum those cherished relics had 
found rest, until that day when the sea shall give 
up its dead ! 

As yet, no real peace had visited the soul of the 
mourner ; the enemy was restrained, that he should 
no longer inflict on her the torture of his blasphe- 
mous suggestions : but grief, corroding grief, ate 
into the vital principle. She was desolate, and a 
widow, moving to and fro ; looking for some mani- 
festation of that divine love, of which the first 
breathings were yet hardly perceptible in her soul ; 
yet without any energy of prayer, any confident 
hope, or such a measure of faith as might enable 
her to lay hold on one of those promises, whereof 
she was very certain that her dear husband was en- 
joying the glorious fulfilment in heaven. 

In this wretched state Theresa returned to the 
home of her widowed mother ; but there she could 
not remain. She pined for the ministry under 
which her departed husband had first received a 



12 THE SNOW-DROP. 

blessing, and gave her mother no rest, until she con- 
sented to remove to that place ; where on the first 
Sunday after their arrival, we were brought together 
in the house of prayer. 

Theresa had taken the infection, while tending 
the death-bed of her husband. Consumption, lin- 
gering, but confirmed, had shown itself before I saw 
her ; grief had bowed her once elegant figure, and I 
cannot look at a snow-drop without recognizing her 
very aspect, — every lock of hair concealed beneath 
the widow's cap, which scarcely surpassed in deadly 
whiteness the countenance that drooped beneath it. 

But let me render thanks to God, that, speedily as 
the outward form decayed, the growth of spiritual 
life within was far more rapid. She had found mercy, 
and I never beheld such intense application of every 
faculty to the one great work of searching the scrip- 
tures ; such fervent importunity for divine teaching ; 
such watchful discrimination in securing the wheat 
and rejecting the chaff, while listening to the vari- 
ous instructors who proffered their aid to this in- 
teresting inquirer. In trembling humility and self- 
distrust, she no less resembled the snow- drop, which 
looks as though the lightest zephyr would rend it 
from its stem : but, strong in the Lord and in the 
power of his might, rooted and grounded in faith, 
she still, like the snow-drop, maintained her as- 
signed place, unmoved by storms that carried de- 
vastation to loftier plants around. Popery, infidelity, 
antinomianism, were casting down many wounded 
in her path ; but God had indeed revealed to her 



THE SNOW-DROP, 13 

the pure doctrines of gospel truth, and beautifully 
did her growing conformity to Christ, evidence that 
the clearness of her views was not merely an ope- 
ration of the mind — it was an illumination of the 
soul. 

Yet, though enabled to rejoice in spirit, some- 
times with joy unspeakable and full of glory, her 
earthly sorrow pressed heavily on the heart so 
early bereft of its idolized treasure. To me alone 
was the privilege allowed of numbering over with 
her the little relics of by-gone hours ; and of gazing 
on his miniature ; where the beautiful features, 
which seemed never to have lost the noble simpli- 
city of expression that characterized his childhood, 
recalled many endearing little incidents to my mind, 
on the recital of which she dwelt with sad delight. 
One occasion I well remember, when the depth of 
her feelings was displayed in a singular manner ; 
and this I often think upon, when revelling in the 
contemplation of my flower-garden at the height of 
its glory. 

She came to me one morning, and found me still 
in my bed, suffering from a sore throat. A basket 
of flowers had just arrived from a distant friend, 
which moistened by a shower of rain, I dared not 
then unpack. When she entered, I called out, 
* Theresa, you are just the person I wanted. I can 
trust precious flowers in your careful little hands ; 
and you shall arrange them, with all the taste that 
you are mistress of ' She threw a hasty glance on 
my blooming store, smiled very faintly, then. 



14 THE SNOW-DROP. 

ing herself beside me, entered into conversation. 
After a while, I reminded her of the flowers : ' Pre- 
sently,' was the answer ; and she then commenced 
a long history of her childhood, which was indeed 
one of extraordinary interest. Hours passed away ; 
and I, seeing the flowers begin to droop, once more 
asked her if she intended to let them die ? She 
rose with a long sigh ; and kneeling down beside a 
chair, slowly commenced arranging the rich variet}' 
before her. I thought she had never looked so 
touchingly forlorn, as when, with her black gar- 
ments spreading around, and her pale sorrowful face 
bent over the glowing heaps of roses, carnations, 
and every brilliant child of June, she pursued her 
task, filling several vases with the bouquets thus 
formed. 

She brought me my dinner, and then dressed, 
and conducted me to my study, where she had 
placed the flowers with such exquisite taste, that I 
cried out in delight, ' Oh Theresa, you shall be my 
florist in ordinary : what a beautiful display you 
have made ! ' She seated herself by my side on the 
sofa, kissed me, and said, c Now, after this, you are 
never to doubt that I love you.' 

1 Doubt it, my dear friend ! I could not if I 
tried : but you have given me stronger proofs of it 
than this, much as your taste and ingenuity are now 
displayed on my behalf.' 

6 No — I never gave you such a proof before !' 

She then burst into tears, and told me that her 
passion for flowers was as great as even mine : that 



THE SNOW-DROP. 15 

it was Frederick's daily task, w T lien in India, to go 
out every morning, and cull the most splendid blos- 
soms of that glowing clime, which he always 
arranged in her boudoir, and upon her beloved 
piano, with as much care as he bestowed on his 
military duties. The long voyage had separated 
her from the world of flowers during his illness; 
and when, after leaving him in the depths of ocean, 
she first beheld those smiling remembrances, such a 
horror took possession of her poor lacerated mind, 
that, as she solemnly assured me, she would rather 
have taken the most noisome reptile into her hand 
than a rose. Voluntarily, she never entered a gar- 
den ; because of the almost unconquerable desire 
that she felt to trample every flower into the earth. 
She had struggled and prayed against this : it was 
a species of delirium over which time seemed to 
have no power ; and it was to avoid a task so tor- 
turing that she had engaged my attention for hours, 
in the hope of my forgetting it until after her de- 
parture. 6 When I kneeled down before the chair,' 
said the sweet mourner, ' I prayed that the sense 
of all your love towards me might prevail over 
my dreadful reluctance ; and it did.' Then, after 
a pause, she added, with another burst of tears, 
I don't think I could have done it, if you had not 
loved Frederick ! ' 

Not long after this, I was surprised by seeing in 
her own apartment a single, soft white rose in a 
glass. She pointed it out to me, saying, ' I am 
following up my, or rather your conquest ; it is too 



16 THE SNOW-DROP. 

ungrateful, that because God has seen fit to resume 
the dearest of all Lis gifts, I should spurn from me 
what he yet leaves in my path.' I understood the 
nature of her struggle ; and trivial as it may ap- 
pear to those whose minds are differently constituted, 
I could appreciate the honesty of her efforts to over- 
come what too many would have delighted to in- 
dulge, as the offspring of feelings that could not 
perhaps have existed hut in a remarkably sensitive 
and imaginative character. She laboured to bring 
all into the captivity of willing obedience to Christ : 
thus yielding strong evidence of a growth in that 
grace which was preparing her for glory. 

I watched, for twelve months, her progress towards 
heaven : and greatly did she desire to die, where 
alone she had truly began to live ; but duty called 
her elsewhere, to the fulfilment of a painful, though 
sacred task. She applied her remaining strength 
-to the work, and then lay down in peace. Her 
death-bed was described by a pious minister as pre- 
senting a foretaste of heavenly triumph. Her ashes 
repose beneath the green shamrocks of her native 
isle ; her spirit rejoices in the presence of her re- 
deeming God, 




THE FURZE-BUSH. 



Page 18. 



CHAPTER II. 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 



6 Nothing venture, nothing have/ is one of the 
homely sayings against which sentence of banish- 
ment has been pronounced, from the high places of 
what we are pleased to call refined society. When 
I scrawled the adage in my first copy-hook, I thought 
it exceedingly wise ; and reduced it to practice a 
few evenings afterwards, in a merry holiday party, 
where the old game of snap-dragon was played. I 
had rarely borne off a single plum, from the midst 
of those pale blue flames that appeared in my eyes 
most terrific ; indeed, all my prizes had been made 
under circumstances that called only the best part 
of valour into exercise ; for I watched when some 
more adventurous wight who had boldly seized one, 
was induced, either by alarm or burnt fingers, to 
let the trophy fall, which I quietly picked up, and 
conveyed into my mouth. The proverb, however, 
seemed to have inspired me with somewhat of a 
more enterprising character ; for, on the evening in 
c 



18 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

question, I elbowed my way through the laughing, 
screaming little folks, and secretly ejaculating, 
c Nothing venture, nothing have/ I bravely plunged 
my hand into the dish, and bore off a noble plum, 
enveloped in those alarming flames, which I blew 
out ; and certainly I thought the morsel that my 
own chivalrous exploit had secured, infinitely supe- 
rior in flavour to any of the more ignoble spoil of 
former times. 

How far this successful application of an old saw 
might influence my after-life, I know not : but cer- 
tain it is, that I have done many things which wiser 
people call rash and imprudent in the highest degree, 
under an impulse very similar to the foregoing. Not 
that, in the darkest days of my ignorance, I ever 
looked to what is called chance, or luck : even in 
childhood, I regarded with inexpressible contempt 
what the grace of God subsequently taught me to 
reject as decidedly sinful. I was taken to church 
every Sunday, even before I could read the Bible ; 
and when sufficiently advanced in learning to do so, 
I was told to receive every word that I read in it, as 
the declaration of God himself. This I did : and I 
believe that a reverential reception of our Lord's 
plain assurance, that the very hairs of our head are 
all numbered, and that not a sparrow could fall to 
the ground without our Father, proved sufficient to 
arm me against the whole theory of " luck." I no- 
tice this with gratitude ; and as an encouragement 
to parents to bring that blessed book within the 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 19 

reach of their little ones, from the first dawning of 
their infant faculties. 

It was not, therefore, in a gambling spirit that I 
applied the adage : — to venture something, where 
the object was to be gained according to ths turning 
up of a card, or the random decision of a lot, I felt 
to be foolish, before I knew it to be wicked ; but 
when any desirable thing was placed within my 
grasp, the attainment of which I might honestly 
compass, at the expense of some loss, or perhaps 
suffering to myself, I have rarely shrunk back from 
the enterprise. It has pleased God, in his great 
mercy, so far to sanctify this feature of my natural 
character, that I am able, through prayer, to attempt 
things, where his glory alone is concerned, which 
some who are far superior to me in every spiritual 
gift and grace would pause at : and I have a crite- 
rion w^hereby to judge when it is through the help 
of my God that I overleap any wall. Accomplish- 
ing it in my own strength, and for my own gratifi- 
cation, I am sure to carry off either broken bones, 
or some severe sprain or contusion ; obliging me to 
limp for a long while after : but when the power of 
faith has alone wrought the achievement, I alight 
unharmed, and go on my w r ay rejoicing. 

6 Nothing venture, nothing have, 5 was my mental 
reflection, as I inserted my hand, the other day, 
within the strong fence-work of a hardy furze-bush, 
to possess myself of the fragrant flower that reposed 
its golden bosom where few w T ould have cared to in- 

C 2 



20 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 



vade its retreat. But the plant was an old, an en- 
deared associate, having formed a distinguishing fea- 
ture of the wild, sweet scenery, amid which I passed 
many a happy day. A type, too, it was of those 
days : for as the bright and beautiful furze-blossom 
throws its sunny gleams over the withering herbage 
that lies frozen around,— shedding lustre and breath- 
ing fragrance on its own thorny tree, — so did the 
transient loveliness of that short season to which 
I refer, ameliorate the dreariness of a wintry doom, 
and sweeten many thorns, planted around me by 
the hand of unerring wisdom. The furze-bush 
from whence I last plucked a flower, is located, in- 
deed, in a region as dissimilar from that which my 
memory enshrines, as are the feelings excited by a 
glance at the present, contrasted with the retrospec- 
tion of what is for ever past ; but its tints are as 
mellow, its foliage as green, and its aspect altogether 
the same. I kHew that if I secured a cluster of its 
soft petals, they would breathe a like fragrance ; 
and I was content to venture a scratched fmger a for 
the indulgence of a sweet, though melancholy, gra- 
tification. 

There was yet another inducement to gather these 
buds of furze : I was about to pass a spot singularly 
interesting to me — a grave, over which I have often 
bent with sensations of exquisite delight. The 
silent tenant of that dark and narrow house, in the 
few months of our intimate acquaintance, furnished 
me with an opportunity of bringing into action all 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 21 

that God was pleased to impart to me of enterprize 
and perseverance, for the attainment of a trophy 
more glorious than aught, and all, that can perish. 
I could not but frequently compare that work with 
the attempt to gather flowers from the midst of nu- 
merous and piercing thorns ; and more than once, 
during its progress, have I stopped to rend a sprig 
from the forbidding furze, and then divesting that 
sprig of all its individual points, that I might rejoice 
in the success of an allegorical exploit. To none 
but to Him who helped me, is it known what I en- 
dured before the victory was made manifest which 
He, not I, achieved ; nor will Christian charity ad- 
mit the lifting of that veil which I desire to throw 
over the opposition of some, whose crown of rejoic- 
ing it might well have proved to be fellow-helpers in 
such a work. I gathered the blossom : and thank- 
full}'' will I leave the thorns out of sight ; forgetting 
those things that are behind, and reaching forward 
to what is yet before me. 

Mary was the name of this departed one, whose 
memory is precious to me. She was a humble cot- 
tager ; but remarkable for that intelligence which 
frequently, I may say, universally, characterizes 
even the most uneducated class in her native Ire- 
land. Over the earliest period of her life, a cloud 
hangs ; but it is not the obscurity of darkness — 
rather, it would seem, the outset was a flood of 
light, suddenly disappearing behind the thick mists 
which overhung the horizon where her morning 



22 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

sun arose. This I ascertained, but not until long 
after those mists had begun to disperse, which deeply 
shrouded her mind at the commencement of our ac- 
quaintance ; — that she was the daughter of a con- 
verted man, called out of the darkness of Romanism 
into the marvellous light of the gospel ; — that her 
father had diligently instructed his household in 
those truths which he had found to be the power of 
God unto the salvation of his own soul ; and that, 
both in English and Irish, he had read the scrip- 
tures, to all who would come within the hearing of 
them. 

I know not how it was, that at the early age of 
six years, Mary was removed from the paternal 
roof, and initiated by those among whom she sub- 
sequently dwelt, into all the mysteries of that fatal 
apostacy from which her father had been rescued. 
She became in time the wife of one equally bigotted 
and equally ignorant with herself ; and crossing the 
channel, they took up their abode in England, within 
the reach of a Roman Catholic chapel, the priest of 
which justly numbered Mary among the most de- 
termined adherents to the tenets of his erroneous 
faith. Some time elapsed, (above ten years I be- 
lieve), before I was led by the hand of Providence 
to fix my dwelling in the same neighbourhood. Of 
Mary, 1 had never heard ; but having become ac- 
quainted with several of her poor country-people 
around, and told them how dearly I loved their own 
green isle, she had felt the yearnings of Irish affec- 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 23 

tion towards one who entertained a preference for 
poor Erin. Nothing could be more characteristic 
than our first meeting : I was advancing with a 
tract, towards the gate of a little cottage, out of 
which came a respectably -dressed woman with a 
basket of eggs on her arm, who made me a very 
nice courtesy, at the same time fixing on me two of 
the most brilliant eyes I ever beheld, and smiling 
with unrestrained cordiality. I returned both her 
greeting and her smile ; on which she immediately 
said, 6 You never come down to our place, Ma'am.' 
I replied, c Perhaps not, for I don't know where 
your place is ; but I am sure you are Irish.' i I 
am Irish, indeed ; and you love our people so well, 
that I often look out for you to visit me. I live 
down by ' — and she named a retreat rather out of 
my usual road. I promised a visit, asked a few- 
questions respecting her native place, and we parted. 
I observed to my companion what a remarkably in- 
telligent countenance she had ; and was told in 
reply, that she was one of the most zealous papists 
in the parish. 

We met occasionally in the street, and always 
spoke ; but I was prevented by other engagements 
from visiting her. After a long time, I learnt that 
she had been very near death : that her new-born 
infant, like herself, had narrowly escaped it, and 
that Mary was then sinking into a very painful 
and dangerous disease — an internal cancer forming, 
which menaced her life. To this were added dis- 



24 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

tressing testimonies as to the determined manner in 
which she rejected all religious instruction not ad- 
ministered by her own priest ; excepting that she 
listened patiently and respectfully to one pious cler- 
gyman, who occasionally visited all the cottages ; 
and who was so universally beloved among the poor, 
that no one ever refused him a reverential and affec- 
tionate reception. 

I was pricked to the heart when told of the in- 
creased sufferings of poor Mary, whose personal 
industry had been the main support of her family : 
and who began to feel the miseries of abject poverty 
aggravating her bodily torments. I determined to 
visit her, and that too for the express purpose of 
trying whether I could not, as a weak instrument 
in an Almighty hand, bring her forth from her dar- 
ling delusions, into the beams of the day-spring 
from on high. I was told that such an attempt 
would subject me to insult ; if not from her, from 
her husband : and that the priest was too unre- 
mitting in his attentions to be ignorant of an in- 
vasion in that quarter, which he would surely 
repel, by stirring up yet more the bigot zeal of some 
among his Irish flock, who had shewn a disposition 
to resent my occasional interference with their false 
faith. 

' Nothing venture, nothing have/ was here ap- 
plicable, in its very best and highest sense ; and in 
the spirit of prayer, I betook myself to the task. 
Into a bush, of which every leaf was a thorn, I 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 25 

certainly did thrust my hand, to gather out from 
among them this flower. Opposition I fully ex- 
pected, from her own strong attachment to the 
errors of popery ; but I found her far more willing 
to listen than I had dared to hope. Indeed, such 
was the love wherewith the Lord mercifully taught 
her to regard me, that she could not quarrel with 
any word or action of mine : the flower itself offered 
no thorny resistance. Opposition from her hus- 
band was unexpectedly prevented, by the removal 
of Mary from her home to a place under parochial 
management, which also brought her much nearer 
to my abode. Opposition from the priest, I en- 
countered to the full extent of his power, even to 
personal resistance ; and the exercise of an influence 
that I did not expect to find so powerful, in far 
other quarters than the cottages of those who fre- 
quented his altar. The great enemy of poor Mary's 
soul put in force to the uttermost his crafty wiles, 
to the strengthening of a cause that, to all but me, 
appeared frequently triumphant ; and when her 
bold, decided avowal that she would hear the scrip- 
tures read, and listen to my instructions, silenced 
those who had built their predictions on her long 
hostility to protestantism, the old and more subtle 
charge of hypocrisy was resorted to. Instances 
were adduced of her frequent deviation from strict 
veracity, while yet under the power of that religion 
which teaches, even in its first catechisms, the fear- 
ful doctrine that such sins are venial only, and to 



26 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

be readily atoned for by a few forms and penances. 
The recent change in her expressions was referred 
to a prudential application of the same convenient 
sophistry ; and I was told that the trifle which I 
occasionally left on her pillow went duly to the 
priest, in purchase of absolution for the sin of list- 
ening to me. This I knew to be utterly false ; but 
I felt at times those painful misgivings which were 
as delicate thorns introduced into the flesh, harass- 
ing me, and tending to indispose me from further 
exertion. Still, by keeping my eye upon the power 
which alone could accomplish such a work, — the 
power which, if once brought into operation, none 
could let, I was enabled to go on, grasping the 
flower, and applying every energy to draw it from 
its adverse concomitants. 

It was when struggling against my own unbe- 
lief, so cruelly encouraged by the groundless tales 
of wilful deceivers and willing dupes, that I was 
unexpectedly cheered, by the sudden recurrence of 
Mary to the scenes of her infancy, her father's 
home. A text of Scripture was brought before her, 
which he had been in the habit of dwelling upon, 
when pointing out to his family the sinfulness of 
creature-worship ; and a flood of light appeared to 
break at once upon her mind, presenting a rapid 
succession of images, long lost in the spiritual dark- 
ness of her riper years. It was then that she told 
me what proved her to have been the child of many 
prayers — the object of a truly Christian father's 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 27 

anxious instruction : and it came, too, at an ad- 
vanced period of my daily attendance, when she 
lay in lingering torments on what was sure to be 
her death-bed. Need I say, that every phantom of 
mistrust, conjured up by the devil to dishearten and 
perplex me, vanished, never to return ? It was 
enough — I found that another had long before 
laboured, where I was mercifully commissioned to 
enter upon the ground, unoccupied as I supposed it 
to be. In the morning, that Christian father had 
sown the seed : in the evening, by God's grace, I 
withheld not my hand ; I know not whether pros- 
pered, this or that : but I believe they were alike 
good. Only the former sprung not up, until the 
latter was likewise cast in. 

Two things made against the apparent reality of 
dear Mary's conversion ; one was, that she long- 
persisted in a falsehood, the tendency of which was 
to screen from well-merited odium one who had 
deeply, cruelly wronged her faithful attachment to 
him. The other was the unvarying respect that 
she showed to her priest, who persisted in visiting 
her. On both these points I was fully satisfied, and 
indeed confirmed in my estimate of her character : 
for, on my directing my discourse one day with an 
especial view to the former of them, the delusion of 
doing evil that some supposed good might ensue, 
she burst into tears, acknowledged her offence ; and 
that she had considered it meritorious to stand be- 
tween that individual and the disgrace that was 



23 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

his just due ; and, in my presence, she spoke to the 
same effect to him, warning him of the ruin that 
awaited him, in time and in eternity, if he forsook 
not his evil way. With regard to the priest, she 
had experienced from him much kindness, and fre- 
quently had he relieved her necessities, instead of 
taking aught from her. She knew him to be sin- 
cere in his errors ; and she did justice to the bene- 
volence of his conduct ; firmly declaring, that as 
long as she lived she would manifest her grateful 
sense of his well-intentioned zeal. I was far from 
discouraging this. I loved her for it, and exhorted 
her to be frequently in prayer for him ; but others 
could not enter into my views, because they saw 
not that wherein I was daily privileged to rejoice. 
It was a small matter to her, or to me, to be 
judged of man's judgment. Mary had the witness 
in herself, and she died in perfect peace — a peace 
that had possessed her soul for many weeks, previ- 
ous to its happy enfranchisement from the perishing 
clay. 1, too, had a witness, in the signal answers 
to prayer, whereby my path was daily opened to 
the chamber of my beloved charge, notwithstand- 
ing an almost unprecedented stretch, both of influ- 
ence and authority, to bar it against me. I had 
another witness, in the unwonted patience that pos- 
sessed my intemperate spirit, under many indigni- 
ties ; and the faith that led my steps continually to 
the scene of opposition. That God himself had set 
before me an open door, was manifested in this — no 
man could shut it. 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 29 

Well, the scratches were soon healed, that, those 
ungracious thorns inflicted ; and the certainty that 
I did indeed behold the flower removed to a fair 
garden where no thorns can enter, renders me joy- 
fully willing to encounter as much, and more, 
wherever the Lord points a way. I should be well 
pleased so' to connect the memory of my interesting 
Mary with the bright-blossomed furze, that every 
survey of its golden treasures scattered over our 
heaths and glens, might suggest a theme of cheerful 
encouragement to all who desire to labour in the 
Lord's cause, among the bond-slaves of Satan. Let 
them always remember, that opposition ought to be 
a spur, overruled to quicken them in their course. 
Satan is an experienced general, who does not enter 
the field against imaginary foes, nor man his walls 
when there is no peril. Whenever he bestirs him- 
self to an active resistance, depend upon it, he sees 
that One mightier than he is taking the field. You 
cannot see your leader ; Satan does. When, there- 
fore, you find unlooked-for obstacles thickening be- 
fore you, be sure that the adversary is alarmed, and 
go forward : for He who never rides forth but to 
conquer is with you in the field. 

With a gladsome heart I look upon Mary's hum- 
ble grave ; for with sparkling eyes she used to tell 
me, that whereas it had been, all her life long, a 
prospect of unutterable horror and dismay to her, 
she could look forward to it as a pleasant resting- 
place for her poor body, while her soul, in the hands 



30 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

of her dear Redeemer, waited for the time appointed 
to reunite itself with its former companion. She 
dwelt upon the glorious change, from corruptible to 
incorruption, from mortal to immortality ; and she 
dwelt upon it as the achievement of Christ alone, on 
her behalf. This was a hope that maketh not 
ashamed ; and well does the gay sweet blossom of 
the threatening furze accord with my bosom's joy, 
while contemplating the work of redeeming love, in 
rescuing her soul from all the hosts that encom- 
passed it. The work was the Lord's — to Him be 
the thanksgiving and the praise ! 




- ". ' r 



THE SHAMROCK. 



Page 



CHAPTER III. 



THE SHAMROCK. 



Should any of my readers have amused themselves 
by conjecturing which, among the increasing variety 
of floral gems that herald the spring, would be 
brought forward as appropriate to the month of 
March, they will probably be disappointed. The 
delicate primrose may ]ook forth from its crisp 
leaves ; the fragrant violet may volunteer, in its 
natural and emblematical beauty, to furnish a 
graceful type ; but the parterre, with all its attrac- 
tions, must be passed by ; for, among the long grass 
at the bottom of the garden, in the most unculti- 
vated, neglected spot, lurks the object of which we 
are now in quest : — invisible as yet ; unless pre- 
maturely unfolded by the influence of more genial 
weather than we can reasonably anticipate at this 
blustering season : but sure to lift up its simple 
head, in the freshness of healthful vegetation, before 
three weeks have passed away. Yes, the Shamrock 
must occupy the station of a flower for once, and 



32 THE SHAMROCK. 

why should it not ? England displays as her sym- 
bol, the glowing rose, — Scotland, the lilac tuft of her 
hardy and gigantic thistle, — and, alas ! poor Erin's 
green shamrock has too often outblushed them both, 
as the life-blood of many a victim oozed forth upon 
the sod under the iron reign of spiritual tyranny, 
which still sharpens, for its own dark purposes, the 
weapons of civil discord ; wading onward, through 
rivers of blood, to the goal of its insatiable ambition. 

But I must not identify the gentle shamrock with 
themes so revolting : I have pleasanter combina- 
tions in view, and long to introduce to my readers 
the companion with whom, for seven successive 
years, I sought out the symbol so dear to his pa- 
triotic heart, and watched the prayerful expression 
of his countenance, while he gazed upon it. He 
was dumb : no articulate sound had ever passed his 
lips, no note of melody had ever penetrated his 
•closed ear, but the c Ephphatha ' had reached his 
heart ; and, oh ! how full, how rich, how sweet, 
how abiding was the communion which he held 
with his adored Redeemer ! 

The Irish have a tradition, that when St. Patrick 
iirst proclaimed among their fathers the glad tidings 
of salvation, making known to them the existence 
of the triune Jehovah, the greatness of that mys- 
tery perplexed and staggered his disciples. They 
urged those cavils wherewith poor natural reason 
loves to oppose the revelations of infinite wisdom. 
' How,' they asked, c can three be one "? how can 



THE SHAMROCK. S3 

one be three V The missionary stooped to gather 
a shamrock leaf, which grew at his feet ; telling 
them, that God had carpetted their beautiful island 
with an illustration of what they considered so in- 
comprehensible : and thenceforth, say the legends, 
the shamrock was adopted as a symbol of the faith 
embraced -by christianized Ireland. This I know, 
that, with a shamrock in my hand, I have gained 
access to many an Irish heart, while my auditors 
eagerly listened to whatever I might preach, upon 
the text of St. Patrick. 

The dumb boy fully understood all this ; he fre- 
quently alluded to it : and, sweet it is to reflect, 
that he whose tongue was silent on earth, is singing 
a new and glorious song before the throne of that 
Incomprehensible one whom he knew and adored — 
as Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier — while seeing 
through a glass more dark, perhaps, than that which 
we are privileged to use: whom he now knows, 
even as he is known ; whom he now adores, with 
energies set free from the deadening weight of sin- 
ful flesh, perfected even into the image of his Savi- 
our's glory. 

Before nineteen years had rolled over him, Jack 
was summoned to enter into this enjoyment ; and I 
do not hesitate to affirm, that the broadest, deepest, 
most unequivocal seal of adoption into God's family 
was visibly impressed upon him, during the last 
seven years of his gentle and peaceful life. His cha- 
racter shone with a bright, yet calm and unostenta- 



34 THE SHAMROCK. 

tious consistency — he adorned his lowly station with 
such quiet endurance of the world's lifted heel, and 
stood so unharmed in the midst of its pollutions, 
evermore revived by the dews of divine grace, and 
exhibiting so attractive, though imperfect, an image 
of Him who formed him to show forth his praise? 
that I could find no type so expressive of him, as 
his own native shamrock ; even had not the fer- 
vency of his patriotism, which was really enthusias- 
tic, crowned the resemblance. 

But another circumstance, never to be erased 
from my fondest recollection, has inseparably com- 
bined that boy's image with the shamrock leaf. I 
had taken him from his parents at the age of eleven ; 
and it will readily be believed, that the grateful love 
which he bore to me, as his only instructor and 
friend, extended itself to those who were dear to me. 
There was one, round whom all the strings of my 
heart had entwined from the cradle. Jack appeared 
to understand, better than any one else ever did, the 
depth of my affection for this precious relative, and 
most ardently did the boy love him. He went to 
Ireland ; and Jack remained in England, with me* 
Many weeks had not passed, before our hearts were 
wrung by the intelligence, that this beloved object 
had been snatched away, by a sudden and violent 
death. The shock, the grief, that preyed upon the 
boy's affectionate heart, while witnessing what I 
endured, proved too much for him, and led to the 
lingering decline which, after years of suffering, 
terminated his mortal existence. 



THE SHAMROCK. 35 

It was some months after this family bereave- 
ment, that, on the dawn of Patrick's clay, I sum- 
moned Jack to sally forth, and gather shamrocks. 
To my surprise, he declined putting one in his hat ; 
and when I rallied, remonstrated, and at last almost 
scolded him, he only repeated the gentle movement 
of the hand, which implied rejection, sometimes 
spelling no, — no. I was puzzled at this ; especially 
as a deep shade of pensiveness overcast a counte- 
nance that always was dressed in smiles on Patrick's 
day. I was also vexed at his want of sympathy on 
a subject on which we had always agreed so well — 
love for dear Ireland. In the middle of the day, I 
took him out with me, and again tendered the 
shamrock : but could not persuade him to mount it 
higher than his bosom. Seeing an Irish youth 
pass, with the national crest, I pointed to him, say- 
ing, c That good boy loves Ireland : bad Jack does 
not love it.' This touched him nearly ; he an- 
swered sorrowfully, 'Yes, Jack very much loves 
poor Ireland/ I shook my head, pointing to his 
hat ; and, unable to bear the reproach, he reluc- 
tantly told me, while his eyes swam in tears, that 
he could not wear it in his hat, for shamrocks nov: 
grew on 's grave. 

I will not attempt to express what I felt, at this 
trait of exquisite tenderness and delicacy in a poor 
peasant boy ; but I told him that the little sham- 
rocks were far dearer to me, because they made that 
spot look green and lovely. He instantly kissed 
D 2 



30 THE SHAMROCK. 

the leaves, and put them in his hat ; and when, 
after two years, I saw his own lowly grave actually 
covered with shamrocks, I felt that, in this world I 
must not look for such another character. That child 
of God was commissioned to cross my path, that he 
might shed over it the pure and tranquillizing light 
of his eminently holy and happy spirit, during the 
darkest and most troubled season of my past pilgri- 
mage. The Lord has choice cordials to bestow, but 
he keeps them for special occasions, to strengthen 
the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees, of his 
fainting people. Such was my experience, while 
the boy was with me, whose whole discourse, his 
every thought by day, and dream by night, was of 
the love and the power of Jesus Christ. He saw 
God in every thing : the lightning he called 6 God's 
eye,' and the rainbow ' God's smile.' Two objects 
his soul abhorred — Satan, and Popery. Of Satan's 
power and malice he seemed to have a singularly 
experimental knowledge ; yet always described him 
as a conquered foe. He once told me, that the devil 
was like the candle before him : and, advancing his 
hand to the flame, suddenly withdrew it, as if burnt : 
then, after a moment's thought, exultingly added, 
that God was the wind, which could put the candle 
out ; illustrating the assertion by extinguishing it 
with a most energetic puff. I often remarked in 
him such a realization of the constant presence of 
this great enemy, as kept him perpetually on his 
guard : and when it is remembered that Jack never 



THE SHAMROCK. 3? 

knew enough of language to enable him to read the 
Bible, this will be felt to have been a striking proof 
of divine teaching. Jack knew many words, but 
they were principally nouns — he mastered substan- 
tives readily, and some of the most common adjec- 
tives, with a few adverbs ; but the pronouns I never 
could make him attend to : the verbs he would 
generally' express by signs. His language was a 
mere skeleton, rendered intelligible by his looks and 
gestures, both of which were remarkably eloquent. 
I have seen him transcribe from the bible or prayer- 
book, as he was very fond of the pen ; but when he 
has unintentionally turned over two leaves, or missed 
a line, he has not been sensible of the error ; a proof 
that he wrote as he drew, merely to copy the forms 
of what he saw. He once got hold of the verse, 
" Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the 
sin of the world," and asked me to explain it. I 
did : and he would write it out twenty times, with 
great delight ; but still preferred the symbol of the 
red hand. It may be asked why I did not advance 
him farther in language 1 There was a reluctance 
on his part which I could not surmount, and which 
he in some measure accounted for, by saying that he 
liked to talk to me, but not to others. He used the 
word " bother," to explain the sensation occasioned 
by any effort in the way of acquiring grammatical 
learning, and went off to his pencils with such glee, 
that, as he was a good deal employed about the 
house and garden, and evidently drooped when much 



38 



THE SHAMROCK. 



confined to sedentary occupation, I yielded to his 
choice, determined to settle him, after a while, to 
his studies ; and conscious that he was right in the 
remark which he made to me, that his not being 
able to talk better kept him out of the way of many 
bad things. His sister, who came over to me five 
months before his death, could not read ; conse- 
quently they had no communication but by signs ; 
and often have I been amazed to witness the strong 
argumentative discussions that went forward be- 
tween them, on the grand question of religion. She 
looked on Jack as an apostate ; while his whole 
soul was engaged in earnest prayer, that she also 
might come out from her idolatrous church. 

But to resume the subject of that spiritual teach- 
ing ; knowing as I did, how ignorant the boy was 
of the letter of scripture, I beheld with astonishment 
the Bible written, as it were on his heart and brain. 
Not only his ideas, but his expressions, as far as they 
went, were those of scripture ; and none who con- 
versed with him could believe without close investi- 
gation that he was so unacquainted with the written 
word. When tempted to any thing covetous or 
mercenary, he would fight against the feeling, say- 
ing 'No, no ; Judas love money — devil love money 
— Jesus Christ not love money — Jack know money 
bad.' I had of course brought him intimately ac- 
quainted with all the history of our blessed Lord ; 
but it was God who made the spiritual application. 

It was a sweet season when first the dumb boy 



THE SHAMROCK. 39 

commemorated, at the Lord's Table, that dying love 
which continually occupied his thoughts. A season 
never to be forgotten. A young countryman of his 
for whom he was deeply interested, had, after along 
conflict, renounced popery ; and earnestly desired to 
partake with us the blessed ordinance. Consump- 
tion had been preying on Jack for many months, 
though he dived a year longer, and his pale face, and 
slender delicate figure, formed a touching contrast to 
the stout ruddy young soldier who knelt beside him . 
The latter evinced much emotion ; but there was all 
the serenity, all the smiling loveliness of a clear 
summer sky on the countenance of Jack. I asked 
him afterwards how he felt at the time : his reply 
was concise, but how comprehensive, ' Jack knows 
Jesus Christ love poor Jack — Jack very very 
much love Jesus Christ — Jack very very very much 
hate devil — Go, devil ! ' and, with a look of lofty, 
solemn triumph, he waved for him to depart, as one 
who had no power to molest him. There was a 
galaxy of scripture in these few words, with their 
accompanying looks. Jesus had made himself 
known in the breaking of bread — " We love him, 
because he first loved us." " Get thee behind me, 
Satan ! " " They overcame him through the blood 
of the Lamb." " The God of all peace shall bruise 
Satan under your feet shortly." Jack had the most 
clear perception of the nature and end of that ordi- 
nance ; more so, I believe, than many who with, 
every advantage in the way of instruction, attend it 



40 THE SHAMROCK. 

from year to year. Dearly he loved the altar of the 
Lord ; and near it he is now laid to rest, just beneath 
the eastern window of that house where, indeed, he 
would far rather have been the humblest door-keeper, 
than have dwelt in the most gorgeous palaces of an 
ungodly world. 

I have alluded to the strength of the boy's patri- 
otism ; this always appeared extraordinary to me. 
Of geography he had not the slightest idea, neither 
could any peculiarity of language (for the Irish is 
much spoken in his native place) or difference of 
accent, affect him. He showed not the least un- 
willingness to leave his country ; nor did a wish of 
returning to it ever seem to cross his mind. Yet 
was his love for Ireland so pervading, that it seemed 
to mix itself with all his thoughts. I have no doubt 
but that the sad contrast which his memory pre- 
sented, of the wants, the vices, the slavish subjection 
of a priest-ridden population, to the comforts and 
decencies, and spiritual freedom of the land where 
he could worship God according to his conscience, 
without fear of man, was a principal ground of this 
tender compassionate love towards Ireland, and was 
the means of stirring him up to that constant prayer, 
in which I know that he earnestly wrestled with 
God, for his brethren according to the flesh. The 
language of his heart was " that mine head were 
waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I 
might weep day and night for the slain of the 
daughter of my people ! " 



THE SHAMROCK. 41 

I well remember finding him one morning in the 
garden, leaning on his spade, with tears trickling 
down his cheeks. On my approaching him with a 
look of inquiry, he took up a handful of earth, and 
shewed me that it was so dry he could scarcely dig : 
then proceeded to tell me that, because of the 
drought, be feared potatoes would not grow well in 
Ireland ; and poor Irish would be all bone, and 
would be sick, and die, before they had learned 
to pray to Jesus Christ. He dwelt on this for a long 
while : and most pathetically entreated me to pray 
to God for poor Ireland. All that day he continued 
very sad : and on bidding me good night, he gave a 
significant nod to one side, and joined his hands, 
signifying his intention to have ' a long pray/ as he 
used to call it. The next morning, I went to the 
garden ; and most vehemently did he beckon for 
me to run till I came to where he stood ; when, with 
a face flushed with joy, he turned rapidly over the 
well-moistened earth, then stuck his spade exult- 
ingly into it, and told me that he prayed a long 
while before he went to bed — got up soon after, to 
pray again-^and, on returning to his little couch, 
slept till morning ; — that while Jack was asleep, 
God, who had looked at his prayer, made a large 
cloud, and sent much rain : and now potatoes would 
grow, poor Irish would be fat and strong ; and God, 
who sent the rain, would send them Bibles. He 
then lifted up his face to heaven, and with a look 
of unbounded love — so reverential, yet so sweetly 



42 



THE SHAMROCK. 



confiding — such as I never beheld on any other 
countenance, he said, ( Good, good Jesus Christ ! ' 
Often when my heart is particularly heavy for the 
wants and woes of Ireland, do I recal that triumph- 
ant faith in which the boy pleaded for it, day by day 
for seven years : and it gives me comfort more solid 
than can well be imagined. 

His expression, that God looked at, or saw, his 
prayer, reminds me of another beautiful idea that 
he communicated to me. Observing that he could 
not speak to be heard, he made me open my watch ; 
and then explained that as I, by so doing, could per- 
ceive all the movements of the wheels, so, but with- 
out opening it, God could discern what passed in his 
head. A servant going to fetch something out of 
his room one night when he was supposed to have 
been asleep a long while, saw him at the low win- 
dow on his knees, his joined hands raised up, and 
his eyes fixed on the stars with a smile of joy and 
love like nothing, she said, that ever she had seen 
or fancied. There was no light but from that span- 
gled sky ; and she left him there undisturbed. He 
told me that he liked to go to the window, and kneel 
down, that God might look through the stars into 
his head, to see how he loved Jesus Christ. Alas ! 
how few among us but would shrink from such a 
scrutiny ! 

I once asked him a strange question, but I did it 
not lightly. He was expressing the most unbounded 
anxiety for the salvation of every one. He spoke 



THE SHAMROCK. 43 

with joy and delight of the angels and glorified spi- 
rits : he wept for those who had died unrecon- 
ciled through the red hand ; and urged me to pray 
very much for all alive, that they might he saved. 
When he lamented so feelingly the lost estate of the 
condemned, I ventured to ask him if he was not 
sorry for Satan 1 In a moment his look changed 
from the softest compassion to the most indignant 
severity : and he replied, with great spirit, 6 No ! 
Devil hate Jesus Christ — Jack hate Devil : ' and 
went on in a strain of lofty exultation, in the pros- 
pect of seeing the great enemy chained for ever in 
a lake of fire. He did not excuse those who perished 
in unbelief and enmity : he seemed to mourn for 
them in the exact spirit of his Saviour, who, as man, 
wept over the sinners whom he nevertheless, as God, 
sealed up in just condemnation. When I asked 
him if he ever prayed for those who were dead, he 
answered in some surprise, c No/ and inquired whe- 
ther I did. I replied in the negative. He said, 
' Good ; ' and added, that the red hand was not 
put on the book after people were dead, but while 
they were on the earth, and praying. Yet the idea 
of the soul slumbering was to him perfectly ridicu- 
lous — he quite laughed at it. The day before his 
death, he asked me, with a very sweet and com- 
posed look, what message I wished him to deliver to 
my brother, when he should see him ; I desired him 
in the same quiet way, to tell him that I was trying 
to teach his little boy to love Jesus Christ ; and that 



44 THE SHAMROCK. 

I hoped we should all go to him by-and-by. Jack 
gave a satisfied nod, and told me he would remem- 
ber it. Accustomed as I was to his amazing reali- 
zation of things unseen, I felt actually startled at 
such an instance of calm, sober, considerate antici- 
pation of a change from which human nature shrinks 
with dismay. At the same time, it furnished me 
with a support under the trial, not to be recalled 
without admiring gratitude to Him who wrought 
thus wondrously. 

And oh that we were all such Protestants as Jack 
was ! Popery he regarded as the destroyer of his 
beloved country : its priestly domination, its me- 
chanical devotions, were, in his mind, inseparably 
linked with the moral evils of which he had been 
from infancy, a grieved and wondering spectator — 
drunkenness and discord especially. After he was 
spiritually enlightened, his view of the c mystery of 
iniquity,' as opposed to Christ and his gospel, be- 
came most overpowering : it was ever present to 
him ; and when actually dying, he gathered up 
all his failing energies into an awfully vehement 
protest against it ; sternly frowning, while he de- 
nounced it as c a lie ! ' This was followed by an 
act of beautiful surrender of himself into the ' bleed- 
ing hand ' of his c One Jesus Christ,' as he loved to 
call him in contradistinction to the many saviours 
of unhappy Home ; — and a pathetic entreaty to me, 
to pray, and to work for c Jack's Poor Ireland.' 

I will do so, God helping me ; and happy shall 



THE SHAMROCK. Hi 

I be, if some among my readers, when the Little 
trefoil spreads its green mantle in their path, will 
remember the dnmb boy, and fulfil his dying wish, 
by seeking occasion to promote the cause of Jesu> 
Christ among the darkened population of * Jack's 
poor Ireland.* 



CHAPTER IV. 



THE HEARTS-EASE. 



The winter of 1833-4 — by courtesy a winter — will 
long be remembered by florists, as having afforded 
them an unlooked-for feast. Its approach was 
heralded by such awful prognostications, founded, 
like those of old, on the flight of birds, and other 
omens alike infallible and innumerable, interpreted 
by the most experienced seers — all tending to esta- 
blish the interesting fact that an early, long-conti- 
nued winter of the keenest severity was about to 
commence its reign over us — that we began instinc- 
tively to examine our coal-cellars, number our 
blankets, and canvass the merits of rival furriers. 
Not being accustomed to place implicit confidence 
in that peculiar gift called weather-wisdom, I was 
exposed to many rebukes by my temerity in not re- 
moving some tender plants, which were doomed to 
hopeless annihilation, by the aforesaid prognosti- 
cators, if left to brave the coming season, in its un- 




THE HEARTS-EASE. 



Page 49. 



THE HEART's-EASE. 47 

paralleled intensity. December came and went, 
leaving ns many a bright rose-bud, intermixed with 
our holly-boughs ; January laid no very severe 
finger on them, though some rough easterly blasts 
scattered a few of their opening petals ; but gave 
with the accustomed snow-drop, fair primroses, and 
fragrant violets, to laugh audacious defiance of the 
menaced blights. February blazed upon us in a 
flood of unwonted brightness, showering in our path 
such blossoms as rarely peep forth till late in Spring. 
Preparations were in forwardness for sending north- 
ward in quest of ice ; but they were suspended, in 
the anxious hope that such an unnatural state of 
things would soon give place to weather less por- 
tentous, less fraught with disappointment to the 
gourmand. Alas for the packers offish, and coolers 
of wine, and congealers of cream ! February went 
smiling out, and March, blustering March, came 
laughing in, arrayed in such a chaplet as he had 
scarcely ever before stolen. My garden is of mode- 
rate size, — in the articles of sun and shade enjoying 
no peculiar advantages above its neighbours ; nor 
enriched by a higher degree of cultivation ; yet 
within a small space of this garden, I counted, on 
the 6th of March, eighteen varieties of flowers in 
full beauty, while the fruit-trees put forth their 
buds in rich profusion, and the birds proclaimed a 
very different story from that which had emanated 
from the weather-office in the prospective wisdom of 
its sundry clerks. My mignionette, my stocks, and 



48 the heart's-ease. 

wall-flowers, and vivid marigolds, had never quailed 
throughout the preceding months ; they continued 
blowing without intermission, yielding constant 
bouquets, with scarcely a perceptible diminution of 
their beautiful abundance ; and never had I been 
disappointed when looking for the smiling features 
of my loveliest charge — the small, but magnificent 
Heart's-ease. Two roots in particular, the one 
intermixing its gold with purple, the other with 
pure white, appeared to derive fresh brilliancy from 
the season, abundantly recompensing my daily 
visits. 

Sweet flower ! Tranquillity makes its lowly rest 
upon its dark green couch ; and cheerfulness is 
legibly written on every clear tint of its glossy 
petals. As a child, I loved that humble blossom ; 
and when childhood's happy days had long been 
flown, I loved it better than before. Yet it was not 
until within a comparatively short period that I 
found a human being altogether assimilating to it ; 
and since his transplantation to the garden of glori- 
fied spirits, nearly two years ago, I have pondered 
on the exquisite traits of his singular character, 
with a growing certainty that to me, and to many, 
he came as a warning voice, to chide our sluggish - 
ness in that race wherein he strove, not as uncer- 
tainly, — wherein he ran, not as one that beateth the 
air, — wherein he struggled with all the energies of 
mind and body and spirit, to rend away every 
weight, to overthrow every obstacle, that could 



the heart's-ease. 49 

hinder him in pressing on towards the mark, for the 
prize of his high calling in Christ Jesus. 

Many will recognize, even in such brief sketch as 
1 can give, the friend who lived in their hearts' 
deepest recesses. It was his to be understood and 
appreciated, in an extraordinary degree, by all who 
surrounded him ; and though his death drew tears 
of poignant grief from every one who had known 
him, yet such had been his life, that we felt it almost 
criminal to mourn his entrance into immortality. 

" To him that overcometh," the promises are 
given ; and w T hat is it that man chiefly has to over- 
come ? Self, unquestionably. The world, the flesh, 
and the Devil, are powerful enemies, but only through 

the medium of self can they assail us. D knew 

this, and his whole conduct was one beautiful, con- 
sistent evidence of a successful contest with the self- 
ish principle, so that, in all pertaining to outward 
things, he lived for others, but always to the glory of 
God. Engaged in professional occupation, which only 
gave him the early morning, an hour at mid-day, 
and the evening, for his own disposal, he invariably 
devoted the latter to the service of others, yet found 
no lack of time for abundant reading, meditation, 
and secret prayer. 

On one occasion, when I admired the expertness 
with which he kindled a fire that had gone out, 
he said, ( It is practice ; I always light my own fire.' 

' Why not employ the woman who attends your 
chambers V 



50 THE HEART'S-EASE. 

( For two reasons : I want it much earlier than 
she could conveniently come ; and my thoughts 
flow on more evenly when unbroken by the sight or 
the sound of another.' 

The time that he thus redeemed from slumber, 
was exclusively devoted to the nourishment of his 
own soul. He frequently recommended the prac- 
tice to others ; enforcing it by the striking remark 
of Newton ; that if the sack be filled at once with 
wheat, there will be no room for chaff. c I fill my 
sack as early and as full as I can, at the footstool 

of the Lord,' said D c or the devil w T ould get in 

a bushel of chaff before breakfast.' Three hours at 
least, were thus devoted, in the stillness of his cham- 
bers ; and then, after a frugal repast, he sallied 
forth — so fresh, so cheerful, so full of bright and 
energetic life, that it was even as a beam of sun- 
shine when he crossed our early path, with his joy- 
ous smile. Yes, he did then resemble the flower, 
vigorous from its bath of ( morning dew, spreading 
its fairest tints to the returning beam, and breath- 
ing pure fragrance around it. 

The mid-day hour was devoted to a meal as fru- 
gal as his breakfast. c Those late dinners,' he once 
said, c are thieves. They steal away one's time and 
energy and usefulness. I am naturally luxurious ; 
and should be the laziest dog on earth, if I treated 
myself to a full meal at that hour.' Accordingly, 

when others repaired to the dinner-table, D was 

on foot for some expedition fraught with usefulness ; 



THE HEART's-EASE. 51 

most happy when, on those evenings devoted to pub- 
lic worship, he could win some thoughtless youth to 
sit with him, beneath the ministry of his beloved 
pastor — the pastor who had for five years been 
building him up on his most holy faith, while he 
himself drew many rich streams of spiritual thought 

from D , in the intercourse of that friendship 

which linked them in the closest brotherhood. 
Very lovely and pleasant were those kindred spirits 
in their lives, and in death they were scarcely 
divided. A few months only intervened, ere Howels 
followed his beloved companion, to join in his new 
song before the throne of the Lamb. 

In his perpetual renunciation of self, there was a 
singular judgment, a striking discrimination in 

D 's method of laying himself out for the benefit 

of others. To please was his delight ; but never 
did he lose sight of that neglected rule of " pleasing 
his neighbour to edification.'* His spirits were light, 
and his temper joyous in the extreme. The frank 
cordiality of his address bore down all the frost- 
work of hearts, even the most unlike his own. His 
manly sense won the respect of many who were 
blind to the more spiritual gifts ; and frequently 
did it pioneer his way, with such characters, when 
bringing forward, as he invariably did, the grand 
topic of Christian faith and practice. Assuredly 
God gave him this favor in the sight of men, to ren- 
der his short, but bright career more extensively 
useful. 

E 2 



52 the heart's-ease. 

And where, does my reader think, where did 

D , thus accomplished, thus fitted to shine, and 

to captivate, to win, and convince ; especially love 
to exercise his gifts for his dear Master's glory ? 
Those who know not the metropolis of England 
cannot estimate the force of my reply. In the dark 
recesses of St. Giles'. Totally unconnected with 
Ireland, never having even beheld her green shores, 
he devoted himself to the cause of her outcast 
children with a zeal, and a fervency, and a perse- 
verance, that I never understood, until I saw some 
of those poor creatures looking down into his open 
grave. Then I comprehended how God had put it 
into his heart so to work, while yet it is called to- 
day, as the night was suddenly to close upon the 
scene of his mortality, when he should work no 
longer. 

It is one characteristic of the heart's ease, to 
spring up in corners where no other flower, per- 
haps, is found : to plant its flexile roots among 
heaps of rubbish ; to peep out from tufts of grass, 
and even to spread its little lovely coat of many co- 
lours on the walk of stony gravel. We wonder to 
see it there ; but never wish it away. And thus, 
go where you would, into the haunts of utter desti- 
tution, of lowest debasement, of most hardened de- 
pravity, there, ever engaged in his work of mercy, 

you were likely to meet D . Those natural 

characteristics of which I have spoken, more parti- 
cularly the frank hilarity of his address, endeared 



the heart's-ease. 53 

him to the open-hearted Irish : and he hailed their 
evident partiality as a token that the Lord had 
willed him to work in that most desolate corner of 

His vineyard. But D did nothing by fits and 

starts : all was, with him, first planned, then exe- 
cuted ; and what he once undertook, in the spirit of 
faith and of prayer, he never abandoned. 

In one of the streets of that wretched district is 
a blessed- institution, known by the name of St. 
Giles' Irish Free Schools. Such a collection of little 
ragged, dirty, squalid beings as assemble in it, can 
hardly be paralleled in London : and here, on the 
very top of the unseemly heap, did this spiritual 
heart's-ease plant himself. No ! here the Lord 
planted him, and here he delighted to abide. From 
sabbath to sabbath he was found at his post, direct- 
ing, controlling, encouraging, leading the exercises 
of prayer and praise, as one whose soul was engaged 
in wrestling with God, for the wild and wayward 
creatures around him. I am not writing fiction ; 
many a tear will bear witness that I am not, when 
this page meets the eye of those who laboured with 
him. Have we not seen the smile of triumphant 
anticipation, against hope believing in hope, while, 
with one hand resting on a slender pillar, and his 
eye taking in the whole group, he led the children 
in their favourite lrymn — 

' Jesus shall reign where'er the sun,' &c. 

Oh! how did his tender and compassionate heart 
yearn over these little perishing creatures! How 



54 the heart's-ease. 

ardently did he, on their "behalf, supplicate for that 
display of healing power, under which 

' The weary find eternal rest, 
And all the sons of want are blest.' 

That school was the dearest object of D 'a 

solicitude ; it nourished under his hand — it drooped 
at his departure ; it is struggling on, in a precari- 
ous existence now ; for who like D can plead 

and work for it ? 

In the month of April, 1832, a dreadful fever was 
raging in our unhappy Irish district ; and many 
perished, for want of attentions which it was impos- 
sible to procure. Much was done by compassionate 
Christians, but few suspected the extent to which 

D carried his self-devotion. It was a time of 

much professional business, and he could rarely leave 
his desk until late in the evening ; when — at mid- 
night — he has gone to the dying poor, in the cellars 
of St. Giles', with such supplies as he could collect ; 
and fed them, and prayed with them, and smoothed 
down their wretched couches of straw and rags. 
Unable to meet the demand on his bounty, he nearly 
starved himself, to hoard up every possible supply 
for his famishing nurslings. The last time that he 
visited me, I inquired concerning a poor Irish 
family for whom I was interested. 

' They are all in the fever,' replied D , c one 

sweet little boy lying dead : the father will follow 
next.' 

' But if all are ill, who nurses them % ' 



THE HEART's-EASE. 55 

c Don't be uneasy ; the Lord careth for the poor. 
By his grace I nurse thern when I can. Last night 
I took a supply of arrow-root, and fed them all 
round ; not one was able to lift a spoon — parents 
and children helpless alike.' 

I trembled, well knowing the extreme peril to 
which he must be exposed ; but he turned the dis- 
course to the evident opening of the father's mind, 
and the happy confidence which he felt concerning 
the dead child : expatiating on the glories of heaven, 
as one whose heart was already there. Twenty-one 
days afterwards, the three survivors of that family, 
so tenderly nursed, crawled out to see their benefac- 
tor buried. He had closed the eyes of the father, 
who departed rejoicing in the full assurance of that 

hope which D had first set before him ; and 

then he sunk under the fever, and died of it. 

I saw him in his coffin : he was withered and 
changed by the devastating violence of that malig- 
nant fever — changed as completely, almost as ra- 
pidly, as the flower whose petals are defaced, and 
marred, and rolled together, never more to expand. 
Yet, amidst all, there lingered an expression be- 
longing not to the children of this world. It spoke 
a conflict, but it also told of a victory, such as man 
unassisted can never achieve. I knew not until af- 
terwards what words had expressed the dying expe- 
rience of that glorified saint. At the very last, at 
the threshold of immortality, he had slowly and 
solemnly uttered them ; — " Mighty power of 



56 the heart's-ease. 

Christ ! to give a poor sinner the victory, even in 
death ! " 

Yes ; though death had laid upon him a hand that 
might not be resisted, though every mortal energy 
was prostrated, and icy chains fast wrapped around 
his suffering body — though crushed into the dust, 
and speedily to crumble beneath it, he grasped the 
victory, he felt it in his grasp ; and the glorious 
truth which in its height, and length, and depth, 
and breath, he had appeared remarkably to realize 
in his life-time, shed splendour unutterable on his 
dying hour. — (i Nevertheless I live ; yet not I, but 
Christ liveth in me." 

With D religion was altogether a substance : 

nothing shadowy, nothing theoretical or speculative 
had any place in him. He coveted clear views, that 
by them he might lay hold on right principles ; not 
to gather their flowers in a showy bouquet, but to 
get their deepest roots fast planted in his soul. I 
never saw one who seemed so totally to forget the 
things which were behind, while reaching forth to 
those which were before. The only subject on which 
I ever knew him to express impatience, was the 
slowness, as he considered it, of his growth in grace. 
Of this he spoke even bitterly ; often taxing me 
with indifference to his spiritual welfare, because I 
did not urge him onward, when, perhaps, I was con- 
templating with secret dismay, the immeasurable 
distance at which he left us all in the race. c If you 
make no better progress than I do,' he once said 3 c it 



the heart's-ease. 57 

is an awful sign of a sluggish spirit. Yet proceed 
warily — make sure of every step ; for many in this 
day are running fast and far, they know not whi- 
ther.' 

The shining heart's-ease will continue to expand 

throughout the year : the memory of D will he 

written on every successive blossom ; and I cannot 
promise that in some future month, if God spares 
me, I may not resume the subject of this chapter. 
When gayer flowers have enjoyed their summer day, 
our heart's-ease will survive many painted wrecks ; 
and then it may come forth again, to speak of one 
who never spoke to me but for the glory of his God, 
and the spiritual welfare of his friend : who dearly 
loved to follow the wonder-working hand of creative 
power, in its glorious displays throughout the visible 
world, and to trace the beautiful analogy subsisting 
between the providential government without, and 
the rule of grace within us. He understood the 
privilege of giving, as it were, a tongue to every ob- 
ject, that all might unite in one harmonious song of 
praise. This formed a conspicuous tie among the 
many that appeared to bind the spirit of D — — 
with that of my dumb boy, in such perfect fellow- 
ship ; perfect indeed beyond what poor mortality 
may conceive ! 



CHAPTER V. 



THE HAWTHORN. 



The changeableness of earthly things has been 
always a favourite and a fruitful theme, alike with 
the worldly moralist and the more spiritual instruc- 
tor. The mutations of vegetable life, in particular, 
appear to have presented an obvious lesson known 
and read of all men. The Pagan Homer could 
tell us — 

' Like leaves on trees the race of man is found ; 
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground.' 

Holy scripture abounds with sublime and touch- 
ing allusions to the same affecting momento of life's 
transitory bloom. Who has not felt the thrilling 
power of those w r ords, so appropriately introduced 
in our funeral service, — " Man that is born of a 
woman is of few days, and full of trouble : he com- 
eth forth and is cut down like a flovjer" The pride 
of my little stand, last winter, was a white Camelia 



*J9 




THE HAWTHORN. 



Page 62 



THE HAWTHORN. 59 

Japonica. gracefully towering above its companions, 

terminating in one of the richest floral gems that I 
ever beheld. Summoning, one day, some young 
friends to admire it, I was startled to find the stalk 
bare ; and, looking down, I saw the petals, not 

scattered about, but fallen into a half-empty flower- 
pot, upon the lowest round, where they laid in such 
a snowy mass of death-like beauty, as perfectly em- 
bodied that vague idea — the corpse of a flower. 

Yet, in general, the evanescence of these bright 
and beautiful creations affects me far less than their 
unchangeableness. Individually, the florets may 
perish in a day ; but succeeding families appear. 
formed, and pencilled, and tinted with such undevi- 
ating fidelity, as to bewilder the imagination : lead- 
ing it back, step by step, through seasons that have 
been crowned with the same unfailing wreaths. The 
flowers of this year come not to me as strangers, 
never seen before : I can select and group the different 
species, as of old, and gaze upon them with the eye 
and the heart of delighted welcome : for surely these 
are loved companions, revisiting my home, to awaken 
recollections of the many hours that we have passed 
together — hours of joys, rendered more joyous by 
their gladdening smiles : hours of sorrow, when, in 
silent sympathy, they seemed to droop and to die 
because my spirit was wounded, and my visions of 
worldly bliss" fading into hopeless gloom. 

May bears many flowers ; but that to which it 
gives its own bright name — the simple blossom of 



60 THE HAWTHORN. 

the common hawthorn — is the flower that I take 
to my bosom, and water with my tears ; and would 
fain bid it linger through every changeful season. I 
cannot even remember the date of the identification 
which invests this blossom with a character of such 
fond and sacred endearment : it is coeval with my 
early infancy. The month of May gave me a beau- 
tiful little brother, when I was myself yet but a 
babe : and it was natural that a thing so sweet, and 
soft, and fair, should be compared to the lovely bud 
which usually sheds its first fragrance about the 
very day of his birth, in the middle of the month. 
I have no earlier recollection, nor any more vivid, 
than that of standing with my sweet companion 
under the hedge-row, to us of inaccessible height, 
eagerly watching the movement of our father's arm, 
while he bent the lofty branches downward, that we 
might with our own hands gather the pearly clus- 
ters selected to adorn our little flower-jars. A bough 
of larger dimensions was selected, and carefully se- 
vered with his pocket-knife, to overspread the 
hearth, where, planted in a vase, it completely hid 
the parlour grate, delighting us with its beauty ; 
which we then verily believed to be bestowed for the 
express purpose of honouring our domestic/^. 

Years rolled over us : to others they were years of 
mingled cloud and sunshine, but to us they brought 
no sorrow, for we were not parted. Sheltered in 
the house of our birth, never transplanted to un- 
learn in other habitations the sweet lesson of mu- 



THE HAWTHORN. 6] 

tual love and confidence, the early link was not 
broken ; other companionship was unsought, unde- 
sired. Early associations lost none of their endear- 
ing power ; and the hawthorn hedge, perfectly ac- 
cessible to the tall lad and active lass, was visited 
by them as punctually on the morning of their 
pleasantest anniversary, as it had been by the lisp- 
ing babes of three or four short summers. 

I never went alone to gather the May-blossoms, 
until my companion had crossed the sea, and drawn 
the sword in battle-fields. I did indeed then go 
there alone, for this world contained not one who 
could supply his place to me ; and beyond this world 
I had not learned to look. I was solitary, in the 
fullest sense of the word, and very sad at heart ; 
but deeply imbued with the same chivalrous spirit 
which had led my brother from his happy home to 
scenes of deadly strife ; I strove, by the false glare 
of imagined glory — that glory which is indeed as a 
flower of the field — to dazzle my tearful eyes. I 
intermixed my hawthorn blossoms with boughs of 
laurel, and soothed my agitated feelings with the 
dreams of martial renown : yet, even then, the voice 
had spoken to my inmost soul, that vanity of vanities 
was written on the best of my choice things. I felt, 
but understood not, and stifled the whisper ; and 
when again the sunburnt soldier, smiling at my 
pertinacious adherence to the childish commemora- 
tion, playfully showered the May-blossoms on my 
head, I felt as though my home was certainly on 



62 THE HAWTHORN. 

earth, and my dwelling-place should abide there for 
ever. 

But my heavenly Father had other views for me, 
and I was put to school. Very hard to a proud 
heart and carnal mind was the lesson that I had to 
learn : but my Teacher was omnipotent, he subdued 
my will, and brought me — poor blind rebel ! by a 
w r ay which 1 knew not. Upon the darkness that 
overshadowed my painful path he poured light, and 
opened to my eyes the gates of life and immortality. 
Then I went on my way rejoicing ; but one thing 
was wanting, and that one was the dearest of all 
created things. I was alone : the beloved companion 
of infancy and childhood was far away under a 
foreign sky : earthly ties multiplying around him, 
and not a voice to proclaim the solemn admonition, 
< This is not your rest : it is polluted.' 

Sweet blossoms of May ; year after year I marked 
them unfolding, and every opening bud told me a 
tale of hope and confidence. Returning still in 
their appointed season, they were never sought in 
vain. Why 1 " For that He is strong in power, 
not one faileth." Day and night, summer and 
winter, seed-time and harvest, came and went. 
Their quiet rotation none might interrupt : they 
were ordained as tokens of a covenant between God 
the Creator and his creature man ; and this again 
was the type of a better covenant between God the 
Redeemer and his ransomed family. I had no ex- 
press promise that such or such a soul should be 



THE HAWTH0RX. 63 

saved at my request ; but I had in myself a token 
for good : — the spirit of earnest, persevering, im- 
portunate prayer, for one who was to me as a second 
self. I had waited and prayed through eight suc- 
cessive years. — still reading upon the simple haw- 
thorn flower, an admonition to pray and to wait, — 
before a gleam of actual gladness broke upon me. 
On the ninth anniversary, from the period whence I 
ventured to date my own deliverance from spiritual 
darkness, I was privileged to deck my brother's 
hearth with the snowy flower : and while his little 
ones aided in the task, I could send up a secret 
thanksgiving, that at length the means of grace 
were vouchsafed — at length the glorious gospel was 
weekly proclaimed to him ; and while I numbered 
the buds, I numbered the promises too : for that 
He is strong in power, not one had yet failed. 

The day returned — it was a late cold spring, and 
only a few half-opened blossoms rewarded my 
anxious search. I was well pleased, for the tree 
furnished a type of him for whom my soul wrestled 
hourly with my God. There were graces in the 
bud, giving promise, but as yet no more : lying 
concealed, too, except from the watchful eye of soli- 
citous love. I placed the little round pearly things, 
hardly peeping from their green enclosures, upon 
his study- table : mentally anticipating a far richer 
developement both of flowers and Christian graces ; 
when another year should have passed away. It 
did pass, and a brilliant season brought the next 



64 THE HAWTHORN. 

May flowers to early perfection ; whether the type 
held good I know not — he was far from me ; — but 
never can I forget the eagerness of supplication into 
which my spirit was wrought at that period. I had 
no assignable reason for it : yet I called on friends 
to make continual intercession on his behalf. I 
thought it long to wait, and impatiently asked, 
How often shall the returning seasons speak only 
of hope ? When shall they bid me rejoice ? 

" My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are 
your ways my ways, saith the Lord." I have pon- 
dered on those words, when I saw the glory of crea- 
tion withering, and its loveliness fading away be- 
neath the first chills of winter. I have dwelt more 
deeply upon them, when my best purposes were 
crossed, my fairest anticipations blighted, and my 
attempts at usefulness repelled by unforeseen, in- 
surmountable obstacles. But if ever those words 
sank with abiding power into my heart, it was 
when I went to gather a solitary blossom of May, 
and hid it in the folds of my sable weeds, while 
imagination travelled to the distant spot where 
the wind was scattering such tiny petals over a 
grave, which man's thoughts would call most un- 
timely, — a grave dug where the grass had scarcely 
recovered from the pressure of his firm, yet buoy- 
ant step, — a grave, into which he went down, with- 
out a moment's warning : yes, as a flower of the 
field, so he flourished. In the morning he w T as as 
bright, as beautiful, as joyous as any creature bask- 



THE HAWTHORN. 65 

ing in the light of that summer day — in the evening 
he was cut down and withered. He around whom 
the deadliest weapons of war had often flashed in 
vain, who had seen a thousand fall beside him, while 
not a hair of his head was touched — who had en- 
countered storm and shipwreck, pestilence and 
famine, and almost every description of peril, with 
perfect immunity from all that overwhelmed others 
— he was reserved to die in the midst of life, and 
health, and peace, and sunshine, and prosperity. 

" As the heavens are higher than the earth, so 
are my ways higher than your ways, and my 
thoughts than your thoughts." It is the Chris- 
tian's privilege no less than his duty, to walk by 
faith, not by sight, and this we readily admit ; but 
let the lesson be brought home to our bosoms, and 
what wretched learners are we ! We sow the grain, 
and fully expect to reap our field in the appointed 
weeks of harvest ; ask the natural man whence his 
confident anticipation of such an issue to his hus- 
bandry — he will tell you that he trusts to nature, 
because her operations are uniform, and have never, 
in the ordinary course of events, been known to fail. 
Are those two immutable things, the promise and 
the oath of Him who is the Author of nature, less 
trust-worthy than April showers, and summer 
beams % Alas, we must answer in the affirmative, if 
we square our words to our thoughts and actions ; 
for notwithstanding the unutterably rich profusion 
of promises studding the whole book of God, as 



GO THE HAWTHORN. 

thickly as the stars bestud the evening sky, we 
bring our unbelief in desperate resistance to the ful- 
filment of our prayers, mentally crying, — Let Him 
hasten his work that we may see it. Except I see, 
I will not believe. Had I been left, to this day, in 
ignorance of the spiritual state of that dear brother 
— as I was, until long after his departure, — I could 
not sorrow as one without hope, remembering the 
many encouragements given to persevere even unto 
the end, after the example of the Canaanitish 
woman ; but the trial, though severe, was not long ; 
and solid grounds were afforded of a delightful 
assurance that, even in the sight of men, that work 
was begun in him, which God never commences, 
to leave unfinished ; though sometimes drawing a 
veil, and from its obscurity breathing into our souls 
the memorable word, " Only believe, and thou shalt 
see the glory of God." 

I could murmur that the hawthorn-blossom has 
this year unfolded prematurely beneath the un- 
wonted softness of the season ; but ever welcome 
be the endeared type ! shall we quarrel with the 
rapidity of God's mercies, and lament the untimely 
perfecting of a glorified spirit ? If the flowers be 
withered, the fruit will tell that they have verily 
bloomed, and left an endearing record of their ex- 
istence ; but some lingering blossom I shall find to 
speak of what needs no memento. It was once my 
lot to pass a spring in a distant country, so bleak 
and barren that, throughout the whole territory, 



THE HAWTHORN. 67 

only one attempt at cultivating the hawthorn had 
succeeded, and that consisted of a few yards of 
hedging close to my ahode. How sweet was the 
smile with which its white flowers seemed to look 
out upon the poor stranger, speaking not merely of 
home, but of all that had made home pleasant to 
my happy childhood. The colonists prized their 
hawthorn-hedge, and pointed it out with pride, to 
their curious children, descanting on the beauties 
of an English landscape ; but who among them 
could love it as I did 1 

The character of him who forms the subject of 
these reminiscences, was in perfect unison with the 
flower. He was singularly beautiful in person, in 
temper most joyous, and of a disposition that dif- 
fused sunshine around him. The most superficial 
observer could not pass him by unremarked ; the 
deepest investigator found abundance to repay his 
close inspection. Many a delicate trait invited the 
latter ; while the former could not but recognize a 
union of attractiveness and worth not often meeting 
in one individual. To me he was a fence as plea- 
sant and as precious as Jonah's gourd, sheltering 
me from the vehement wind. But though so many 
sad thoughts are now written on the fair blossom 
of May, it likewise presents a sacred Eben-ezer of 
unnumbered mercies, which have followed me all 
the days of my life ; and which follow me yet, as 
surely as the leaves reappear to clothe the stems that 
F 2 



00 THE HAWTHORN. 

winter had denuded. " For that he is strong in 
power, not one faileth." 

And here I had intended to close this paper, but 

1 cannot. A circumstance most unexpected has 
occurred, even while I was in the very act of pre- 
paring to send these pages to the press ; and I must 
not withhold the ascription of praise to Him who 
now, at the end of several years, has given me to 
see a cluster of fruit from the sweet blossom of 
Christian promise, that seemed so suddenly to fall 
and die. I was yet pondering with tearful eyes on 
this poor record of departed gladness, when a letter 
reached me from one who labours in his Master's 
cause among the deluded people of Ireland. He 
asked me to plead for an estimable society, esta- 
blished in the diocese of Tuam, for the education of 
poor children : and subjoins, i one of our best schools 
was instituted by your late lamented brother? Now, 
to the glory of God's grace be it spoken, He never 
yet left me without some token for good, when my 
mind had been strongly exercised on the glorious 
subject of his faithfulness and truth. I had even 
questioned whether it would be expedient to send 
forth this story of hopes and prayers, where many 
might doubt whether they had been fulfilled ; and 
I do not envy the faith or the feeling of that person 
who should chide me, for recognizing in this case a 
distinct message of encouragement from Him whom 
I have dared to trust. 

I knew long since that my dear brother, shortly 



THE HAWTHORN. 69 

before his death, had discovered a little hedge- 
school in a remote part of that country, which he 
only visited to find a grave beneath its sod. I knew 
that he had compassionated its destitute case, and 
obtained for the children a small supply of religious 
books : but I never knew, never suspected, that the 
Lord had put such honour upon his work, as to bid 
it grow up into an important establishment of truly 
spiritual instruction, and to stand forth among a 
little cluster, appointed to shed abroad the light of 
life and immortality over those regions of darkness 
and the shadow of death. I cannot communicate 
to my readers my own peculiar feelings, but fain 
would I speak of hope and joy to those who go 
in heaviness for souls not yet brought under the 
power of Divine truth ; fain would I urge them 
always to pray, and never to faint ; fain would I 
persuade them, when looking abroad on the burst- 
ing buds, the unfolding leaves, the embryo fruits of 
May, to read on every petal, every pod, the soul- 
cheering invitation, " Lift up your eyes on high, 
and behold ! who hath created these things, that 
bringeth out their host by number : he calleth them 
all by their names, by the greatness of his might, 
for that he is strong in power, not one faileth." 



CHAPTER VI. 



THE WHITE ROSE. 



Brilliant month of June ! What an accumula- 
tion of treasures are scattered over the face of the 
florist's domain by that liberal hand. Or rather, 
since those figurative expressions steal away the 
ascriptions of praise from Him to whom they should 
ever ascend, and scatter them among the clouds of 
pagan imaginations, rather let me say, how richly 
has the Lord our God dealt forth his unmerited 
bounties ; on how many fair pages, of ever-varying 
beauty and grace, has he written the story of his 
compassionate love to man — the memorial of that 
blessedness which they alone enjoy w^ho seek his 
face. That the flower-garden is a type, the most 
cursory glance ought to convince us ; the outline 
cannot be mistaken, by one who considers it with 
that reference to spiritual things which the Chris- 
tian should not — cannot lose sight of : but there is, 
in the ample detail of all its delicate filling up, 




THE WHITE ROSE. 



Page 75. 



THE WHITE ROSE. 71 

such a perfect correspondence, that the more we 
study it, the fuller will be our appreciation of that 
expressive promise to the church, " Thou shalt be 
like a watered garden." 

Watered by the soft dews and cooling rain of 
spring, we have seen the plants arise from their dark 
chambers, and shake off the dust, and unfold their 
bright bosoms to the sun. Always to the sun. 
Called into existence by his vivifying power, and 
ripened in its pod by his steady rays, the seed, in 
its earliest state and most shrouded form, was al- 
together his work. It never would have been, in- 
dependent of his influence ; and under that influ- 
ence it was preserved, until, having been placed 
where it should become fruitful, the germinating 
process had brought it forth into open day — no 
longer a seed, but a plant. And when its beautiful 
garments are put on, when it stands so clothed that 
Solomon in all his glory could not compare with it, 
what does the flower, in this watered garden % It 
turns to him whose creative power and preserving 
care have led it to its new state of being ; it turns to 
bask in the full glow of transforming love ; it looks 
upward ; and upward it sends that rich fragrance 
which never dwelt in the original seed, or in the 
mass of polluted earth where its first habitation 
was fixed ; a fragrance that belongs only to its 
expanded state. Thomson has very elegantly ex- 
pressed this : 



72 THE WHITE PwOSE. 

' Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 
In mingled clouds to him whose sun exalts, 
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.' 

Yet Thomson only saw with the perception of taste, 
and by the exercise of natural reason, argued from 
the things that are seen, to the invisible First Cause. 
Alas ! that many who have been deeply taught of 
the Holy Spirit to view all in Christ, and Christ in 
all, should often come so very far short of even this 
ascription, when looking upon their watered gar- 
dens of perishing flowers ! 

I am shamed by every weed that grows, when 
I bring myself to this test — when I compare the 
diligence with which each tiny blossom seeks the 
beams of the summer sun, with my sad unheed- 
fulness in striving to catch the far brighter beams 
of that eternal Sun, without whose life-giving light 
my soul cannot be sustained. The favourite edging 
of my flower-beds is singularly eloquent on this 
point. Heart' s-ease composes it ; and while the 
border that faces the south exhibits its beautiful 
little flowers on short stems, basking tranquilly in 
the ray, displaying a broad uniform sheet of gold, 
and silver, and purple, — the strips that run from 
south to north, appear as with their heads turned, 
by an effort, out of the natural posture, that they 
too may gaze and shine. To complete the picture, 
where a little hedge throws its shadow over another 
bank of my heart's- ease, I see them rising on stems 
thrice the length of their opposite neighbours, per- 



THE WHITE ROSE. 73 

fectly erect, and stretching upwards as if to overtop 
the barrier, that they too may rejoice in the sun- 
shine which gladdens the earth. 

Beautiful at all times, when are flowers most 
beautiful ? To this question each will reply, ac- 
cording to his peculiar tastes and preferences. For 
myself, I must declare that they never look so 
lovely in my sight, as when brought to wither 
gently on the bed of death. 

It was in the land of warm, deep feelings — the 
country which I must needs be continually bring- 
ing before my readers, if my hand be prompted by 
the abundance of my heart — it was in Ireland, that 
I made this discovery. It is well known how re- 
volting are the scenes of riot and debauchery usually 
presented at an Irish wake : the very name is an 
abhorrence to those who comprehend its character, 
as practised in the south of Ireland, among the 
Roman Catholic population. Yet a wake, kept by 
some humble Roman Catholics in the south of Ire- 
land, is one of the spectacles to which my memory 
often reverts with delight ; associating with it all 
that is most touchingly lovely in the world of 
flowers. 

The boy was not two years old, who lay stretched 
on a little couch, over which the hand of affection 
had festooned a drapery of delicate white muslin, 
confined here and there with bows of white satin 
ribbon, while a dress of the same material enfolded 
the corpse ; his little cap just shading the soft bright 



74 THE WHITE ROSE. 

locks that alone varied the snow-like appearance of 
the whole object, until the last finish was given 
to the careful arrangement, by disposing small 
bunches of delicate flowers, and young green leaves, 
upon the pillow, the coverlet, and the surrounding 
drapery. The child was very beautiful when living ; 
in death, surpassingly so. If real grandeur is any 
where on earth to be found, it dwells on the broad 
open brow of infantine beauty, ere the conscious- 
ness of wilful sin has marred its native majesty. 
Often have I quailed before the stedfast gaze of a 
very young child ; almost forgetting that the little 
creature, who looked so bold in comparative inno- 
cence, was already a condemned sinner ; — that, 
though of such is the kingdom of heaven, it is only 
by the atoning blood of the cross that a being so 
polluted can enter there. But infancy in death — 
infancy snatched from an evil world, ere the taint 
can overspread its unfolding mind — infancy re- 
deemed, and rescued, and exalted to behold always 
the face of God in heaven — is indeed a glorious spec- 
tacle. Where is the Christian parent, whose bitterest 
tears have been unmixed with the sweetness of as- 
sured hope, when contemplating the bereavement of 
a babe, not lost, but gone before 1 gone to Him 
whose compassionate bosom is ever open to receive 
his lambs ; his hand always extended to wipe the 
tear-drops — the few and transient tear-drops of in- 
fancy — for ever from their eyes. 

But I must return to the Irish baby, who lay in 



THE WHITE ROSE. 75 

state, not after the fashion of this world's great 
ones, but to indulge the fond and superstitious feel- 
ings of his family ; three generations of whom had 
assisted to adorn him for this customary display. 
Glancing around me, I beheld with surprise four 
large candles burning, though scarcely visible in the 
glowing sunbeams that fell upon them from a wes- 
tern window. Behind these superfluous lights, a 
large crucifix was fastened to the wall, terminating 
in a bowl well filled with holy water. On a table, 
together with the good cheer inseparable from a 
wake, were displayed other symbols of a worship 
clearly idolatrous ; while whispered invocations, 
addressed to the helpless mediators on whom the 
Church of Rome instructs her deluded people to 
call, completed a scene that filled my heart with 
sadness when I looked upon the living, and my soul 
with rejoicing, as again I turned to contemplate the 
dead. 

It is impossible to describe the force of the con- 
trast. The paraphernalia of a worship at once 
sensual and senseless, mingled with the gross ali- 
ment of the body, with the coarse luxuries of to- 
bacco and snuff, bottles of whiskey and jugs of beer, 
all confused in the red, smoky atmosphere of dim 
candles : these were on my left hand. I turned to 
the right, and beheld the fair casket of a jewel lately 
rescued from the evil grasp — the calm and majestic 
countenance of a creature originally formed in the 
image of God, and, by the sacrifice of God's dear 



76 THE WHITE ROSE. 

Son, made near once more, and for ever. Over this 
beautiful object stole the purest beams of a setting 
sun, bathing it in soft brilliancy ; while the flowers, 
the innocent smiling flowers that reposed above, and 
beside, and around him — not in profusion, but at 
such intervals as gave the full effect to each indivi- 
dual blossom — these appeared to claim, as their sweet 
companion, the little body so like themselves, in its 
short, sunshiny existence, its peaceful decay, its 
future uprising from the dust of the earth, to light, 
and life, and glory.' 

Happy spirit ! Like a bird out of the snare of 
the fowler, he had escaped the chains that super- 
stition was forging to hold him back from God. 
Before that idol-crucifix he had never bent : to the 
water beneath it he had never looked for sanctifying 
influences. He had not dishonoured the most high 
God his Saviour, by giving glory to other names ; 
nor had he sought unto man for the pardon which 
cometh from God alone. Too young to sin " after 
the similitude of Adam's transgression " by volun- 
tary disobedience, he was by natural inheritance an 
heir of wrath, an alien from God : too young to ex- 
ercise faith on Christ, how precious as I looked on 
him, was the assurance, that the blood shed as a 
propitiation for the sins of the whole world, em- 
braced his case, and opened to him the heavenly 
kingdom. My mind was engrossed by the deep 
and clear argument of the apostle, in the fifth chapter 
of the epistle to the Romans, which to me brings 



THE WHITE ROSE. 77 

perfect conviction as to the eternal safety of all 
who die in infancy. Like the early dew, they just 
visit our earth, and once brought within the influ- 
ence of the Sun of righteousness, 6 they sparkle, are 
exhaled, and go to heaven.' 

There are many flowers that speak to me of early 
happy death. The lily of the valley is one ; but 
the fairest is the white moss-rose. I have never yet 
attached it to any individual character : but behold 
in its faint blush, scarcely perceptible, the last deli- 
cate hue of animation quietly fading from a young 
face where the pulses throb no longer. The usual 
plan, as I have seen it adopted among the poor Irish, 
! is to lay out the body of the dead on an elevated 
couch, or table, in the corner of a room ; one wall 
forming the head, another the side, of the temporary 
bed. Against these walls they suspend a white 
sheet, pinning bouquets here and there ; and as the 
flowers begin to droop, bending their heads down- 
ward, it requires no very great power of imagina- 
tion to read the type — they seem to gaze upon the 
corpse, repeating the humiliating doom, alike appli- 
cable to both — dust we are, and to dust we shall 
return. I could not look on such a spsctacle with- 
out beholding the garden of Eden, by man's trans- 
gression rendered desolate, and perishing, alas ! in 
man's destruction — the creatures, the innocent and 
beautiful creatures of God's hand, made subject to 
vanity through our sinfulness ; fading and falling 
into one common grave. The pall may spread its 



78 THE WHITE ROSE. 

velvet folds, and the sable plumes bow in stately 
gloom over the dead : but a single white rose, 
drooping amid its dark foliage, tells the story more 
touchingly, and with more eloquent sympathy than 
all that the art of man may contrive, to invest sor- 
row in a deeper shade of woe. 

" Thou shalt be like a watered garden," says the 
Lord to the believing soul, whose graces shall spring 
up, and nourish, and be fruitful, to the praise of 
the glory of his grace, who visits it with the small, 
quiet rain of his life-giving Spirit. " Thou shalt be 
like a watered garden," he says to his church, as 
one sleeper after another awakes, and arises from 
spiritual death, and receives light from Christ, 
growing up among the trees of his planting, that he 
may be glorified in the abundant accession to his 
vineyard on its very fruitful hill. " Thou shalt be 
like a watered garden," the Lord says to this wide 
earth, destined in the appointed day to see her dead 
men live — they that dwell in the dust of many ages, 
awake and sing — a dew as the dew of herbs falling 
upon her graves, and the bodies of the saints that 
slept issuing forth in the brilliancy of celestial 
beauty. Then that which was sown in corruption 
shall be raised in incorruption : that which w T as 
sown in dishonour shall be raised in glory : that 
which was sown in weakness shall be raised in 
power : that which was sown, a poor, vile, natural 
body, shall be raised a spiritual body, like to the 
glorious body of Christ, according to the mighty 



THE WHITE ROSE. 79 

working whereby he is able to subdue all things — 
yea, even death, and the grave, and destruction — 
unto himself. Has he not given us an earnest of this, 
in the vivid forms that spring up on every hand, as 
we tread the garden and the grove ? Shall we look 
upon this annual resurrection, and not give thanks 
unto him for his great power ? Shall we disdain to 
acknowledge the benevolence of that divine skill 
which has taken of the common elements, and spread 
them out into such lovely forms, and tinted them 
with such resplendent hues, and finished the deli- 
cate pencilling with such exquisite art, and planted 
them in our daily, hourly path, breathing delicious 
fragrance ; and, to crown all, bade us consider them 
how they grow, as an earnest of the tender care that 
he is pledged to take of us, his obdurate, unthankful 
children ! 

Lord of all power and might ! all thy other works 
do naturally praise thee ; but such is the darkness 
of man's heart, that it is only by the application 
of that spiritual gift purchased by the blood of 
Christ, that even thy saints can be impelled to give 
due thanks unto thee for thy great love, while thou 
clothest the grass that makes pleasant their footpath 
over this magnificent wreck of a glorious world ! 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE CARNATION. 



There are many disadvantages in writing perio- 
dically on a given subject. Other engagements, 
combined with the treacherous spirit of procrastina- 
tion, will lead us to defer the work, until the con- 
sciousness of a waiting press throws a feeling of 
hurry and anxiety upon the mind, which is sure to 
fetter its operations, just as they need to be most 
vigorously performed. It was under such a con- 
sciousness, that I strolled forth this morning, to 
look upon the languid flowers. A long drought 
had sadly changed the aspect of my usually soft 
and verdant grass-plat ; the trees that cluster 
around it presenting quite an autumnal tint, from 
the number of faded leaves ; while, on the border 
open to the south, such an array of shrivelled petals 
and withering buds disfigured the tall rose-trees 
that expand upon the wall, that while I gazed, my 
spirit drooped in sullen sympathy ; and having 




THE CARNATION. 



Page 86. 



THE CAHNATION. 81 

bound some straggling carnations to the sticks 
which I could scarcely drive into the baked soil, I 
returned to my study, with as little inclination to 
write about flowers, as a sick person usually has to 
partake of a substantial meal. 

On a sudden, and most unexpectedly, a dark cloud 
which had rapidly overspread the sky, burst, in 
one of those downright soaking rains that bid fair 
to penetrate even to the roots of the earth. This 
was accompanied by a breeze, so rough as to bend 
low the lighter trees, and to toss with some violence 
the branches of the more stable. Thus while the 
rain refreshed all that retained life, the wind sepa- 
rated what was dead, bearing it far away, and 
leaving the exhilarated scene to sparkle in its sum- 
mer beauty. Who could look on this, and fail to 
apply the expressive acknowledgment — " Thou, 
Lord, sentest a gracious rain upon thine inheritance, 
and refreshedst when it was weary." 

I can now augur well for my carnations, planted 
rather unadvisedly, I confess, in that unshaded 
south border. Some will wonder that I should 
suffer them to droop for lack of moisture, while 
the simple contrivance of a watering-pot is within 
reach. But, though I do occasionally give the gar- 
den such artificial refreshment, I find that the hard 
spring- water, which alone is at hand, affords a very 
insufficient substitute for the distillations of the 
sky. This, too, is good for me — it teaches me to 
look up, and to acknowledge my soul's continual 

G 



82 THE CARNATION. 

clependance on that which man cannot supply. 
The garden of Eden was Adam's only bible, and 
sweetly, no doubt, did he meditate upon the living 
page ; a book more precious meets our far deeper 
wants ; but the first volume, with all its sin-wrought 
blemishes, when interpreted by the second, is a study 
that I would not forego for any work of human 
wisdom. 

I must not, however, lose sight of my carnations : 
they have reference to some reminiscences in which 
I must indulge. Not that the character which I 
connect with them, bears any resemblance to the 
flower : but those delicate flowers grew in great 
profusion round the lowly cottage of old Dame C. 
and, as the sole acknowledgment that poverty could 
make, I was invariably presented with the choicest 
of that elegant store, when I commenced visiting 
her : until I came so to identify them, that, if I had 
been more than a day or two absent, the sight of a 
carnation would send me off, conscience-stricken, to 
my instructive post. 

Dame C. could find no gratification in the flower- 
garden : for twelve years she had been totally 
blind ; and when I first saw her, she had lain for 
full two years on a bed, where rheumatic affection 
of the limbs forbade her even the luxury of chang- 
ing her position, without an effort quite agonizing 
to her crippled frame. I want to pourtray the 
family as I found them ; and shall endeavour so 
to do. 



THE CARNATION. 83 

A beloved friend, whose faithful labours in the 
ministry had shed the light of Goshen within many 
a detached cottage, where all besides was darkness 
— yea, darkness that might be felt — was removed 
from among us. At his departure, I was told of 
Dame C. ; as one who would sorely feel the loss, and 
requested to look in upon her occasionally. It was 
not long before I visited the cottage ; and certainly 
a less attractive scene I could hardly have en- 
countered. 

On entering the little kitchen, the first object that 
presented itself was the countenance of a boy, in the 
very lowest state of confirmed idiotcy ; his open 
mouth distorted into a wild laugh, and disfigured 
by a frightful scar, occasioned by his falling upon 
the wood fire. This deplorable being sat in a little 
chair ; his long mis-shapen legs and arms were 
alike powerless ; and altogether the first sight of 
him was enough to check my wish for farther ac- 
quaintance with the cottagers. However, I pro- 
ceeded, and saw a very old man sitting near the 
fire : while a middle -aged woman, of a very serious 
and even sad countenance, respectfully welcomed 
her visitor. 

' Is this your little boy 1 ' said I, trying to re- 
concile myself to the spectacle. 

' No, madam, he is a friendless child, cast by the 
Lord on such poor help as we can give him.' 

< Where is Dame C. 1 ' 

€ I will take you to her : ' and then with great 
G 2 



84 THE CARNATION. 

tenderness lifting the boy in her arms, who at eight 
years old, had the length (not height, for he could 
not stand) of ten or twelve, she preceded us into the 
adjoining room ; which was in so dilapidated a 
state that light penetrated the roof in many places, 
where the covering of turf had sunk in between the 
open rafters, presenting an aspect of great poverty, 
and accounting for the rheumatic pains to which 
the inmate was subject. 

The dame lay on her very humble but clean bed : 
and again I shrunk back. Her face was drawn into 
innumerable wrinkles, its expression indicating 
great suffering, and something about the eyelids 
that gave a vague idea of the forcible extinction of 
sight. She seemed a personification of misery, and 
there was a heavy vacant look that almost dis- 
couraged me from speaking to her. Still I strove 
against the repugnant feeling, and spoke gently and 
kindly, inquiring how she felt herself. 

' Very poorly, indeed, lady,' she answered, with- 
out any movement : i my poor bones ache so, that 
I can get no rest.' 

' But your soul rests — does it not % — in the love 
of the Lord Jesus.' 

' It does — blessed be my gracious Lord ! ' 

6 Well, I am come, at the request of our dear Mr. 
H. and his sister, to see you. 5 

In a moment her hands were raised to grasp a 
cord that hung loosely across the head of her bed, 
and by means of which, with a forcible effort, she 



THE CARNATION. 85 

turned herself to the side where I sat, exclaiming, 
with a blaze of animation, c Oh, do tell me some- 
thing of them ! And did they send you to me 1 ' 

I told her much of those precious friends ; and 
then we talked of the Master whom they served ; 
and then I read a portion of God's word, astonished 
and instructed by the deep observations that she 
continually made. I found her, in fact, one of the 
most experimental Christians that I had ever met 
with ; and before I left her, every object had be- 
come lovely in my sight : so manifestly did the 
glory of the Lord rest on all around me. Many an 
after hour did I pass, holding her poor withered 
hand in mine, while we discoursed upon the love of 
God in Christ ; and many a Christian friend, in- 
cluding ministers and missionaries, did I take to 
learn of my blind old dame such heights, and 
depths, and breadths of that redeeming, enlighten- 
ing, sanctifying love, as few of them had ever 
attained to. 

On my second visit, I ■ took my dumb boy : he 
was deeply affected, and after gazing intently on 
her countenance whilst I read the scriptures to her, 
though not comprehending a word that passed, he 
said to me, with tears in his eyes, c Poor blind wo- 
man loves Jesus Christ.' I then told her of his 
presence and his state : and veiy lovely it was to 
see the trembling hand of the blind old saint pressed 
on the head of the deaf and dumb youth, while she 
invoked the richest blessings of covenant grace on 



86 THE CARNATION. 

his path — already, and evidently, tending to an 
early grave. 

One peculiar characteristic marked that singular 
dwelling : it was the zeal of both mother and daugh- 
ter for the soul of the idiot boy : his story was very 
touching. His mother, led astray and abandoned, 
had sought shelter there — had given him birth — 
and died with every appearance of having been led 
to Christ during her short but bitter trial. The 
only connexion of either parent who could do any 
thing for the babe, was asked where he should be 
sent : ' Toss him behind the fire ! ' was the savage 
reply : and from that hour he was cherished in the 
poverty-stricken abode of faith and love ; receiving 
a most scanty dole from the parish towards his 
support, with a weekly threat of its withdrawal. 
c And if they do,' said the dame's estimable daugh- 
ter, ' we can but trust to the Lord, and go on. I 
am sure he has a soul, and at times I see little 
gleams of sense in him ; and I am sure that, poor 
sinful child of a sinful race though he be, the blood 
of Jesus Christ can save him too.' And then she 
clasped her arm round him, and earnestly talked to 
him of the love of Christ ; observing, c How do I 
know but that he understands more than he can 
express !' 

It will readily be believed that my heart became 
knit to this family : and after my poor boy was 
confined to his home, I went continually to give and 
receive supplies of strengthening hope, in conversing 



THE CARNATION. 87 

with Dame C. Never was gratitude so overpowering 
as that wherewith our little offices of kindness were 
received : never were spiritual things more abun- 
dantly reaped, in return for such poor services in 
carnal things. 

I was often deeply humbled to perceive in how 
fierce a furnace the Lord still kept what to man ap- 
peared gold fully refined. The dame's trials were 
dreadful. One part of her malady was the nightly, 
and often daily, appearance of the most horrible 
shapes and countenances, menacing and rushing at 
her, as if commissioned to tear her in pieces. Not 
being able to account for this, she naturally sup- 
posed them to be evil spirits ; and most heart-rending 
were her cries to the Lord, for help and defence 
against them. A medical friend explained to me 
the origin of these optical illusions : and I was able 
to convince her that they sprang altogether from 
her disease. It was joyful news to her harassed 
mind : but in the beautiful simplicity of her faith 
she said, ' When I thought them devils, I did not 
really fear them : it was sad to have devils for com- 
pany, and they are very frightful too : but since 
neither angels, nor principalities, nor powers, can 
separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus 
my Lord, I felt that they could do me no harm.' 

The dame found out my love of flowers, and often 
charged her daughter to pick the best for me. The 
little garden was as rich in them as tasteful industry 
could make it ; and, by careful cultivation, the 



88 THE CARNATION. 

family of pinks and carnations had overspread the 
borders in splendid profusion. I had no floral as- 
sociation more distinct, than that of these lovely 
specimens with the cottage of Dame C. 

When, after a period of most agonizing suffering, 
my dumb boy underwent what the country people 
call the " change for death," about a week before 
his actual departure, I went to seek comfort from 
my dame, and was greeted with the tidings that a 
change exactly similar had passed on her. I could 
not then bear to see her ; but, five days after, I 
went and beheld her laid out, in the perfect sem- 
blance of death. No perception of any kind seemed 
to exist, her respiration only, now and then rising 
to a groan, indicated that life still lingered. * She 
will never speak nor move again,' said her daughter ; 
' thus she will breathe her last/ But she was mis- 
taken ; another day and night passed by, and every 
moment appeared likely to be the final one. At 
seven o'clock in the morning of the ensuing day, to 
the amazement of her watchful nurses, the old wo- 
man lifted up her hands, and in a loud clear voice 
exclaimed, i When you hear the bell toll for me, 
then rejoice — rejoice — rejoice ; for I shall be in 
glory.' The word 6 rejoice ' was each time accom- 
panied with a clap of the hands— the word 6 glory ' 
was uttered in a tone of rapturous exultation — 
and then the hands fell, and the soul was gone in a 
moment. 

Thus she entered into the joy of her Lord, at the 



THE CARNATION. 89 

age, as she used to say, of twenty-eight. i For 
though it is eighty-six years since I came into the 
world, you know I was dead till the voice came, 
" Awake thou that sleepest, arise from the dead, 
and Christ shall give thee light." Yes, I was dead 
in trespasses and sins, and I will only number my 
days from that whereon He quickened me.' 

I had 'anticipated much solace from discoursing 
with her of my dumb boy's state, when he should 
be taken away ; she died fourteen hours before him ; 
and he called her, playfully, ' Bad blind woman,' 
for not waiting for him. 1 stifled the selfish feeling 
of disappointment, and feasted on the assurance of 
their glorious meeting, when the eyes of the blind 
are indeed opened, and the ears of the deaf un- 
stopped, and the tongue of the dumb makes melody 
in heaven. It is so realizing to witness the short 
and sprightly step wherewith some of God's children 
spring from time into eternity. The bursting of a 
bud into sudden expansion typifies it sweetly ; but 
I must not anticipate the Evening Primrose. For 
this month it will suffice me to bend over the grace- 
fully-drooping carnation, and send out my heart's 
warmest affections towards the poor of this world, 
rich in faith, whom God hath chosen to be heirs of 
his kingdom, in glory that shall never fade away. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

* The pale primrose ' of early spring has found a 
laureate in the bard of every age, of every grade. 
The vernal landscape, pictured to our mind's eye, 
would be incomplete without it. Who can fancy a 
green bank, beginning to shoot forth its tender blade, 
after shaking off the feathery tufts of snow, without 
including in the ideal sketch that delicate flower 
which rises on its slender stalk to grace the slant, 
and peer into the narrow channel beneath, as if 
watching the gradual withdrawal of winter's now 
liquified mantle ! 

But the primrose of spring has a younger sister 
appearing later in the year ; one who wears her 
tint, and borrows her name, and inherits her sweet 
humility, though towering in stature far above the 
lowly prototype. The promise of evening comes not 
forth to share in the general competition of her 
many-tinted neighbours : she keeps her beautiful 




THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 



Page 97. 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 91 

petals wrapped closely in their mantle through the 
day, nor unfolds them until other flowers have 
shrank from the dewy chill ; and then it is aston- 
ishing how rapidly the hlossoms hurst their cere- 
ments, expanding in quick succession, while we can 
scarcely persuade ourselves that the change before 
us is the work of half an hour. 

It was. in the haunt of my childhood, the garden 
of my paternal home, that I learnt to love this prim- 
rose. My father had so great a predilection for it, 
that he scarcely allowed its progress to he checked 
even when the increase threatened to overrun the 
parterre. I knew the reason of this — he had heard 
me say that I liked nothing so well as, after gazing 
on the brilliant colours of the western sky, to turn 
and look upon the cool sweet buds that aw^oke while 
all others were at rest. I scarcely dare to call up 
the images connected with that period of my life : 
intentionally I never do so, because the scenery on 
which one ray of gospel light never broke, will not 
endure the retrospective gaze, without inflicting a 
pang most trying to poor rebellious nature. Yet that 
their memory lives in the deep recesses of my heart, 
I am made to feel whenever I look upon the plant : 
and that, with all its sorrowful combinations, the 
theme is most dear to me, I know by the thrill of 
secret delight that welcomes its appearance, far be- 
yond that of every bright flower around it. 

Not long ago, I was trying to trace to its first 
origin the character of deep sympathy, wherewith 



92 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

I am conscious of having invested this particular 
flower, from my very childhood. To me, the even- 
ing primrose does not so much represent an indivi- 
dual, as a sentiment ; hut this assuredly took its 
rise from its association with my father's image, 
who, in all that concerned me, presented the most 
complete personification of delicate sympathy that I 
have ever witnessed among men. This was the 
more remarkable, as his mind was particularly mas- 
culine, his every taste and pursuit far removed from 
what was frivolous or idle. Yet was his soaring 
intellect perpetually bowed, his mighty faculties 
continually brought down, to reach the level of a 
weak and wayward child, so as to render his com- 
panionship the main ingredient of my happiness ; 
while others, far my superiors in age and under- 
standing, stood aloof, and wondered at my delighting 
in what they regarded with no little awe. Certain 
I am, that at no period of my life have I met, in 
any human being, with a sympathy so full, so tender, 
so unfailing, as that of him who left me early to 
buffet with the storms of life : and the evening prim- 
rose always is, always will be, a memento of what 
I shall no more enjoy on earth. 

The flower, too, is an apt emblem of what I would 
describe. It comes, when the fellowship of many 
sunshiny friends is withdrawn. The gayest have 
disappeared from my garden before it is ripe for 
blossoming ; and those of its contemporaries who 
smile on me through the day, will close the eye, 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 93 

and avert the head, at the cool hour when I am 
tempted forth to muse among them. A feeling of 
desertion steals on my spirit, when I look around 
upon the folded petals that laughed back my noon- 
tide greeting ! and then, as if partaking in my 
thought, the delicate buds of the evening primrose 
throw wide their silken leaves, with a haste that 
seems to bespeak no slight impulse of benevolent 
sympathy. The lapse of every year gives addi- 
tional emphasis of meaning to this contemplation ; 
for each returning summer bears witness to some 
additional bereavement, while companions long- 
loved have gone down into the grave, or faces that 
beamed lovingly on me have become averted in 
coldness, or estranged by protracted absence. The 
flower is then a precious remembrancer to tell me 
of One who changes not — whose unseen hand up- 
held my unsteady steps when gambolling in infancy 
among the blossoms— guided me through the mazes 
of a perplexing pilgrimage — and is still upon me for 
good, with the cheering promise, " I will never leave 
thee, nor forsake thee." The sudden bursting of a 
bud of the evening primrose has power to recal my 
thoughts, in the moment of inconsiderate levity, 
with an influence most subduing ; and when de- 
spondency or discontent pervade the spirit, that little 
incident will sooth and cheer me, like the words of 
a tender and sympathizing friend. 

How wonderful is the influence that sympathy 
can exercise over some minds ! And yet it is diffi- 



94 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

cult to define its precise character ; for it may exist 
unseen, where a cold exterior veils its operations ; 
or it may be so counterfeited as to delude us into a 
belief of its abiding where, in reality, it was never 
known. Besides, different ideas are attached to the 
word, according to the feelings of individuals ; and 
men will call that sympathy which merely conforms 
itself to their prevailing humours, taking care not 
to cross the grain of their inclinations, however 
wrong or dangerous they may be. An invalid may 
have a particular liking for something expressly 
forbidden by the physician ; and then he is the sym- 
pathizing friend, who will smuggle the prohibited 
delicacy to the sick patient, or overrule the opposi- 
tion of more conscientious advisers. Again, a Chris- 
tian may be — and alas ! few Christians are not — 
under the influence of some besetting sin, which he 
conceives to be merely a harmless characteristic of 
his natural disposition, while, to all others it may 
evidently appear most unlovely — unseemly — and 
inconsistent w r ith his profession. To him, that 
friend will seem the most sweetly sympathizing, who 
affects not to perceive, or helps him to frame excuses 
for, the reigning corruption. But that in either of 
these cases the seeming kindness is real cruelty, 
we need not to be told. True Christian sympathy 
places its soul in the soul's stead with which it has 
to deal, and proceeds as, in such a case, it would de- 
sire to be dealt with ; constantly keeping in view 
the momentous interest of eternity. At the same 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 95 

time it will infuse all imaginable tenderness into 
the faithful dealing which conscience dictates ; and 
herein is its peculiar character most brightly de- 
veloped, that it will stoop to the weaknesses of the 
most feeble-minded ; studying the very prejudices 
of its object, in order to avoid any needless in- 
fliction. 

There are some minds so constituted that they 
appear, intuitively, to fall into the very circum- 
stances of those with whom they have to do ; inso- 
much that the pain or embarrassment of another 
will affect them as personal troubles ; — the gratifi- 
cations of others yield them a positive pleasure. 
Of this sensitive class was Cowper, whose universal 
tenderness of feeling took into its grasp the very 
brute creation. And if such characters were nu- 
merous among men, we should find the world very 
different from what we now experience it to be. 
Sweet and refreshing it is, to meet with individuals 
so constituted ; and where divine grace has given a 
higher impulse and a nobler aim to their benevo- 
lence — when, not merely the temporal but also the 
spiritual benefit of their fellow- creatures becomes an 
object of their deep concern — they are as palm-trees, 
in the desert of our pilgrimage, extending alike to 
every weary traveller the shadow so welcome. 

This habit of placing ourselves in the situation of 
another will also be found to prevail wherever a 
strong individual attachment subsists. Warm af- 
fection will seek the happiness of its object, and that 



96 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

is only to be clone by studying the disposition of 
the person beloved, with a steady self-devotion — a 
co-partnership in every joy and sorrow — a moulding 
of our own will and habits to those of the cherished 
object. Here, again, is sympathy ; and to this ma- 
nifestation of it I can bear witness, and remember 
how my every taste and inclination were watched, 
that they might be gratified ; how light was every 
sacrifice accounted, that a fond father could make 
to promote the welfare of an afflicted child. The 
sacredness of the tie, the immensity of the obliga- 
tion, the total removal of him who conferred it, out 
of the reach of all grateful return, and the cheering 
brightness that seems to hang over the remote re- 
trospection of those by-gone years —all tend to melt 
my spirit into sad, yet soothing emotion, when I 
behold the flower on which is engraven that record 
of indulged childhood — of sympathy more perfect 
than I can ever again look for upon earth. 

There is yet another demonstration of this bene- 
volence which we are warranted to expect among all 
who bear the name of Christ ; and this is expressed 
by the injunction, " Bear ye one another's burdens." 
Without possessing the exquisite tenderness of the 
class first alluded to, without entertaining any 
especial degree of partiality for the individual, we 
are imperatively called upon to make both allow- 
ances and sacrifices, for the sake of those around us. 
Good breeding ensures this, among people who are 
held together by the bonds of civil society ; but 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 97 

something more must interpose to induce its con- 
tinuance, where intimacy has removed many re- 
straints. It is not to be computed how much of 
domestic and social happiness is lost, by neglecting 
to cultivate this branch of Christian duty. It is 
lovely to see the strong bearing the infirmities of the 
weak, and descending to trifles, beneath the level of 
their more powerful minds, in order to avoid too 
rough a collision with spirits rendered over-sensitive 
by afflictions, by sickness, or by natural tempera- 
ment. Nor is forbearance to be confined to the more 
energetic party : the weak are bound to remember, 
that others, differently constituted, cannot so enter 
into all the minutise of their feelings, as to escape 
every appearance of insensibility to their complaints. 
Still, if the gospel rule be followed, in prayerful so- 
licitude to possess and to manifest the mind which 
was in Christ Jesus, many a cup, now of almost 
unmingled bitterness as respects this world, may be 
sweetly ameliorated by the hand of forbearing 
kindness ; while gleams of gladness are rendered 
brighter, by the smiling participation of those who 
are taught of God to rejoice with them that do 
rejoice. 

I think the whole Bible does not afford to us so 
affecting a lesson as that contained in two words 
in St. John's Gospel — " Jesus wept." It is not 
merely the act of his weeping, but the occasion that 
presents so exquisite an instance of the sympathy 
dear to afflicted man. Our Lord was on the point 

H 



98 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

of turning the grief of his friends into unbounded 
joy, and very few among us, with such anticipation 
close at hand, would be able to find a tear for the 
mourners — our minds would be too much occupied 
with their approaching, and most overwhelming de- 
light. But the holy Jesus, touched with a feeling 
of all our infirmities, looked on the present anguish, 
and wept with the heart-broken sisters. Oh ! how 
unlike that cold, unsympathizing spirit, that seeks 
to force on the writhing sufferer its own superficial 
view of the passing calamity : that chides the gush- 
ing tear, and preaches a lesson of indifference to a 
mind stretched on the rack of torture ! Yet this is 
often done, with the best and kindest intention, 
through forgetfulness of the great and precious 
example of Him who could not err. I have expe- 
rienced this injudicious treatment, when every feel- 
ing of my heart was lacerated and torn, by a loss 
no less bitter ; far more sudden and terrible than 
that of Martha and Mary. I have then been told 
that what was past could not be recalled, and there- 
fore I must not allow my mind to dwell upon it. 
Miserable comfort it was, and utterly hateful to my 
soul : but I turned to the sacred volume, and in 
those two words, " Jesus wept," I read the charac- 
ter of one to whom I could bring my sorrows, who 
would suffer me to weep before him, and forgive the 
reproachful thought, that said, " Lord, if thou hadst 
been here, my brother had not died." 

And how beautifully does the bud of my gentle 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 90 

Evening Primrose typify the change that passes on 
the children of God, when he summons them to 
hurst the fetters of flesh ! It is true that, when 
the spirit enters into glory, it disappears altogether 
from our ken, while the glory of the flower is to 
expand and shine before us. Still the rapidity, the 
beauty of the transition, occurring too, as it does, at 
the quiet, solemn hour of closing eve, will force 
upon the mind a resemblance very sweet to con- 
template, and gives, at least to me, the idea of 
happy spirits silently encompassing my path, while 
I meditate on the endearing theme. 1 sometimes 
gather the buds, and watch their expansion in my 
hand, delighting almost as a mother does in the un- 
closing eye of her slumbering babe. The petals of 
this flower are very beautiful, and wear a character 
of refreshing coolness and durability too, when they 
open to the pleasant breeze of evening : but all is 
frail and transitory, destined to endure no longer 
than while the sun is absent from our hemisphere. 
Vanity is written upon ail that fixes its root in this 
perishing earth : and man, especially, walketh in 
a vain shadow, disquieting himself in vain. The 
best, the clearest, the holiest of our privileges, as 
regards our fellow-beings, hang but npon a breath ; 
and that perhaps the breath of Satan, or of most 
evil-minded men, permitted by Him who suffered 
the inmates of Bethany to drink the bitter cup of 
bereavement, in tears and anguish of soul ; but only 
that he might, after exercising their faith and sub- 

H 2 



100 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

mission, prove the omnipotence of his arm to wrest 
back the prey, and confound the opposers of his 
sovereignty, and shame the doubters of his ever- 
lasting love. Against his faithful servants, the 
hand of violence and wrong can do nothing, but 
pave the way for brighter manifestations of his 
glory ; he whom Jesus loves may be sick — he whom 
Jesus loves may be persecuted — but his prospect is 
sure ; and, however foes may triumph for a season, 
he shall yet be more than conqueror, through Him 
who so has loved him. 




THE VINE. 



Page 108. 



CHAPTER IX. 



THE VINE. 



After a long struggle against the prevailing incli- 
nation, I have resolved to gratify it, even at the 
hazard of being brought in guilty of a flagrant 
departure from the verity of my title. Fruit does 
not legitimately come under the head of flowers ; 
— true, but flowers that herald not some species of 
fruit are comparatively of little worth. In short, I 
would rather, for once, plead guilty to the charge 
of inconsistency, than deprive myself of the delight 
with which I constantly dwell on an image so 
nationally precious, that the reader who falls out 
with me for bringing it before her, must seek her 
place beyond the circle of, at least, English Chris- 
tian ladies. 

The Vine, the fruitful Vine, that spreads its 
luxuriant foliage, and throws out its wiry tendrils, 
and hangs forth its clusters to the mellowing sun- 
beams, will not be passed by, at this season of sweet 



102 THE VINE. 

recollections. It brings before me in most vivid 
portraiture, a scene never to be forgotten ; nor ever 
to be recalled without a glow of heart, which to be 
sure, I cannot hope to communicate to my readers ; 
though most of them will be able to conceive how 
little peril I am in of overstating the matter, when 
they have the particulars, which I will faithfully 
relate. 

It was on a very bright and gladsome morning 
that I set out, accompanied by my own, my precious 
brother, and his little girl, and my dumb boy, on an 
excursion fraught with very delightful anticipations. 
We reached the end of our journey, and were ush- 
ered into a room well furnished with books, adorned 
with tasteful prints, and wearing the aspect, yea, 
breathing the very soul of elegant retirement, hal- 
lowed into something far beyond the reach of this 
world's elegancies. At the further end of the apart- 
ment was a recess, almost of sufficient size to be 
called an additional room, thrown boldly forward 
beyond the line of the building, and forming, in 
four compartments, one large semicircular window, 
scarcely a pane of which was unadorned by some 
stray leaf or tendril of the vine that rested its swell- 
ing bunches in profusion against the glass. Beyond, 
the eye might find much of sylvan beauty whereon 
to rest : but to me, no attraction lay beyond it ; for, 
in the light and cheerful little sanctuary, there sate 
a lady, whose snow-white locks — " a crown of 
glory ' 7 — shaded, or rather brightened, a countenance 



THE VINE. 103 

so beaming with love, that the sentiment of reveren- 
tial humility was at once absorbed in that of en- 
deared fellowship with one who evidently sought no 
homage, nor claimed superiority over the lowliest of 
her Saviour's followers. 

That lady was Hannah More. 

My heart often melts within me at the recollec- 
tion of the tenderness that marked her first greeting. 
There was that, in my own circumstances, which 
could not fail to engage her sympathizing compas- 
sion ; there was that, in the cases of my companions, 
which powerfully awakened her most serious in- 
terest. I had long shared the benevolence of her 
love, long reaped the benefit of her devout prayers, 
and received many a message of affectionate solici- 
tude, during a preceding period of no common tri- 
bulation. She saw me then, rejoicing in the presence 
of a long-lost friend, yet filled with the keenest 
anxiety for his spiritual welfare. I can readily be- 
lieve that the occasion called forth into conspicuous 
display the loveliest features of her beautiful cha- 
racter : and, assuredly, I never have beheld a 
countenance so expressive of all that can sweeten 
mortality. 

How quick, how perfect is the communion of 
spirit between those who, having often met at the 
throne of grace, while yet far absent in body, are at 
length brought eye to eye, beholding one another's 
faces in the flesh, which heretofore had been but 
dimly pourtrayed by uncertain imaginations ! Our 



104 THE VINE. 

converse was unavoidably restrained, by the pre- 
sence of those whose absence neither of us could 
have desired : but every time that her sweet, quiet, 
yet animated eye met mine, it told me that she read 
my thoughts, that her soul ascended in prayer for 
the attainment of that which mine so fervently 
longed after : and it spoke, in the smiling encour- 
agement of her cheerful aspect, " Fear not : only 
believe, and thou shalt see the glory of God." 

It was to me, a clear token for good, that her 
very heart seemed drawn out towards my brother, 
who having long sojourned in a land of gross dark- 
ness, such as might be felt — had recently returned, 
not only ignorant of the truth as it is in Jesus, but 
impressed with the most absurd prejudices against 
those whose spiritual earnestness he had been taught 
to consider as paroxysms of fanatical derangement. 
He had never been brought into contact with an 
open professor of serious religion, and very terrible 
to his joyous spirit was the phantom of melancholy 
moroseness conjured up by the enemy of his soul, 
to deter him from entering into such society. His 
love for me, the delight that he had ever found in 
promoting my gratification, impelled him to venture 
into what he expected to find the counterpart of La 
Trappe. This he had expressed to me on the road, 
remarking that he had no great fancy for visiting 
" the queen of the Methodists ; " and a lurking ex- 
pression of suspicious dislike clouded his bright 
countenance, until he had taken a deliberate view 



THE VINE. 105 

of his new acquaintance ; who, being on her part 
fully aware of his prejudices, was particularly soli- 
citous to remove them. 

It was no difficult task : for the Lord had willed 
it : and oh how sweet it was to me, who could read 
every turn of those expressive features, to see the 
mist rolling away, and the brightest sunshine of 
delight overspreading them, as he listened to her 
interesting converse, and repaid her judicious in- 
quiries with a mass of valuable information, on the 
topics most engaging to a soldier just returned from 
the scene of his victories. The usual period allowed 
to visitors passed too fleetly, and he appeared no 
less gratified than I was, when she told us that after 
taking some refreshment, and strolling through the 
grounds, we must again return to her alcove, and 
renew our conversation. 

During this interview, Jack, the dumb boy, had 
been standing behind a chair, .his eye roving with 
strange delight from one to the other, fully compre- 
hending the character of each, and bestowing on me 
many significant nods, accompanied with the words 

1 Beautiful loves Hannah More : good Hannah 

More loves beautiful — — / while he, and the won- 
derful manifestation of divine grace in his soul, 
furnished her with many appropriate remarks, cal- 
culated to awaken my dear brother's interest on 
subjects quite new to him. 

Sweet shades of Barley Wood ! how lovely they 
looked to my gladdened eye, as we strolled among 



106 THE VINE. 

them — how delicious to my soul were the remarks 
made by my companion on their blessed owner — 
and with what pleasure did I observe the mutual 
cordiality of their greeting, when he again seated 
himself opposite to her, leaning over her little table, 
and perusing the venerable countenance which really 
shone with maternal love towards him. I would 
record it among the many instances of her Christian 
spirit, that she endured, even to serious inconve- 
nience, the fatigue of a most prolonged interview, 
for the sake of following up a manifest advantage 
with one in whose sight the Lord had given her un- 
looked-for favour ; and I trust that it is enrolled 
among her abundant labours in her Master's cause. 

But the vine ? Well, I was seated just opposite 
the window, and counted as grapes of Eshcol, the 
clusters before me ; for I thought that my brother 
was now obtaining a glimpse of the product of that 
good land concerning which unfaithful spies had 
brought him an evil report. Neither did I overlook 
the typical fitness of the plant to grace Hannah 
More's favourite corner : for truly she, among 
women, was as that vine among the shrubs of her 
garden. Who has not attached the distinction of 
exquisite gracefulness, combined with noble simpli- 
city, to the vine ? Who has not acknowledged its 
beauty, its full, overspreading growth, its rich abun- 
dance of delicious fruit ? Painters will tell us, that, 
to study the perfection of form, colour, light and 
shade, united in one object, we must place before us 



THE VINE. 107 

a bunch of grapes. Scripture refers us to their 
juice, as " wine which maketh glad the heart of 
man/' selecting it also as an emblem of that choice 
blessing, a loving, faithful wife. Now, in Hannah 
More's renewed and ripened character, those who 
know her best will be the most eager to assert that 
all these . qualities were clearly perceptible : to me, 
who had not much personal intercourse with her, 
the trait of graceful simplicity, evidently emanating 
from an humble, peaceful mind, shone paramount as 
it does in the beautiful tree. There was exquisite 
modesty, deprecating, in every look, the homage 
that all were prepared to render. There was some- 
thing that shrank from admiration, while it courted 
the love, I could almost say the countenance and 
encouragement of those who could only have thought 
of raising to her the eye of reverential observance. 
Yet, amid all this humbleness of mind, that asked a 
prop from what, in comparison, was but a bundle of 
dry sticks, rich clusters were perpetually looking 
out — thoughts that drew their being from the sap 
of the True Vine, clothed in the fairest diction, ar- 
ranged with tasteful skill, and touched with the 
peculiar grace of originality ; while the unction 
that cometh from above, rested with freshening 
effect upon this fruit of the lips of a true mother in 
Israel. 

We are, alas ! so selfish, that I have often ques- 
tioned whether Hannah More would have left such 
a delightful impression on my mind, had I seen her 



108 THE VINE. 

under circumstances less endearing to my own fond 
heart, than those narrated above. So very precious 
her remembrance would not be ; but that she was 
altogether equally engaging as valuable, I had the 
testimony of my brother, whose previous expecta- 
tions had been extremely unfavourable to her. He 
remarked, in his usual playful manner, referring to 
the title that he had given her, i The method ists 
cannot be like their queen : they are poor melan- 
choly souls, but she is the nicest, liveliest, sweetest 
old lady I have ever met with.' I well remember 
that, on our return to the study, on hearing us ex- 
patiate on the beauties of her luxuriant plantation, 
she told us she had put down every tree and shrub 
with her own hand ; neglecting, for that employ- 
ment, the more important one to which the Lord 
had called her : adding that she had been severely 
rebuked for it, by being long disabled in the right 
hand. ' This evil hand/ she said, slapping it with 
the other, c which left its Master's work so long 
undone ! Well might he have caused it, like Jero- 
boam's, to wither and be dried up ; but after a season 
he mercifully restored it.' 

One of the last efforts of my dumb boy, with his 
pencil, was to complete a copy that he had com- 
menced from a print of Barley Wood. He left it, 
after all, unfinished ; but the window is distinctly 
pourtrayed ; and the distant church, where now 
repose the mortal remains of Hannah More. She 
lived to shed many a tear for me, when the sudden 



THE VINE. 109 

stroke that removed my brother made every pre- 
ceding trial appear as nothing ; and she lived to 
render praise for the slow yet glorious translation 
of the dumb boy into the eternity after which he 
panted. He retained the fondest recollection of her ; 
and, when dying, requested me to fix a little sketch 
of her likeness where he could constantly behold it 
— saying, in his broken language, 6 Jack die young : 
good Hannah More very old, soon come to Jesus 
Christ in heaven.' Yes, I trust indeed that they 
were all branches, living branches of the True Vine. 
In one of them the Father was glorified, by her 
bearing much fruit through a long succession of 
plentiful years : another, according to his shorter 
season, yielded many a cluster, precious in the sight 
of the great Husbandman, who willed his trans- 
plantation into a better soil : and the third — oh, he 
was taken from the wild vine, and grafted into the 
tree, and had received of its fulness, and began to 
put forth the delicate bud of promise — the blossom 
of hope that maketh not ashamed. What could we 
do without that blessed assurance that it is the Fa- 
ther's good pleasure to give the kingdom to all his 
little flock 1 The lamb, so newly dropt that it can- 
not yet find a firm footing, but totters and sinks 
before the lightest breeze — that lamb is, notwith- 
standing, of the flock. Once born to God, the soul 
never dies ; once admitted into his family, it is no 
more cast out. Weak faith is ever staggering at 
the promise, and asking for evidences which the 



110 THE VINE. 

nature of the case puts beyond our reach : it cannot 
trace this simple analogy between things natural 
and things spiritual. It is content, as regards the 
veterans of the fold ; but the little new-born lambs, 
how could they tread the difficult path to heaven ? 
Why, they could not tread it at all — and what then 1 
The Shepherd gathered them in his arms, and car- 
ried them in his bosom, and they reached it no less 
surely, safely, speedily, than the sturdy ancients 
who travelled onward in matured strength. Verily, 
our unbelief strips God of half his glory, to put it 
on the creature. 

It is a hard saying for human pride to hear, that 
the babe which gives one gasp and dies, enters 
heaven under as exceeding and eternal a weight of 
glory, as the matured, the tempted, the victorious 
Christian. But if it be of grace, and not of works, 
such is the undeniable inference. We are con- 
strained to believe, but how hard to apply it ! The 
infant martyrs of Bethlehem, who laughed with 
unconscious glee at the glittering of the murderous 
blades, just poised to impale them — wherein is their 
crown less bright than that of our confessors, who 
voluntarily mounted the pile, and fixed the chain, 
and welcomed the torturing fires of popish perse- 
cution ? There is surely, no difference in the re- 
compense of Christ's sufferings, bestowed alike on 
each : but very sweet, and surpassingly dear, must 
be the retrospection of those who had forsaken all 
to follow him, after counting the cost, and fully 



THE VINE. Ill 

comprehending what lay before them. The act of 
renewing a sinful nature, must needs furnish a song 
of praise for eternity : a long catalogue of wilful 
transgressions, also blotted out by the blood of the 
cross, may well raise the tone of ecstacy much 
higher. But it will be as with the manna in the 
wilderness, where he who gathered little did not 
lack, and he who gathered much had nothing over. 
This is never the case with aught of man's pro- 
viding ; but when God furnishes the table, it can- 
not be otherwise. 

When the eye rests upon the pleasant green 
foliage of a favourite tree, how smoothly can the 
billows of thought roil on, in the untroubled mind, 
each insensibly disappearing before its successor. 
To dream aw T ay life, w T ould accord with most dis- 
positions ; and to ponder on the w^orks of others, 
often appears somewhat of a meritorious work in 
ourselves. I find this snare in my garden ; loving 
better to trace characters in flowers, than to bestir 
myself to the needful operation of uprooting weeds. 
May the Lord, who has given me many sweet and 
soothing thoughts, while contemplating the vine 
that his bounty has enriched with precious clusters, 
cause the warning word to sink deep into my heart, 
which declares, " every branch in me that beareth 
not fruit, he taketh away ! " 



CHAPTER X. 



THE HEARTS-EASE. 



When viewed upon a grand scale, and from a 
commanding station, how beautiful the tints of 
Autumn ! We look abroad, over hill and plain, 
interspersed with grove and shrubbery, and the 
hedge-row that forms so remarkable a character- 
istic in our natural scenery, and endless appears 
the diversity of rich and mellow tint, which by its 
loveliness half reconciles us to the legible symptom 
of speedy desolation. He who has willed the fre- 
quent changes that bereave us of our choicest pos- 
sessions, has not failed to soften that bereavement 
with many tender touches of a hand that loves to 
pour balm into every wound it sees needful to make. 
Even in the material world, we trace the workings 
of this divine compassion ; and while shrinking 
from that dreary winter of w r hich they are the 
infallible precursors, we still are compelled to greet 
the dying hues of autumn as among the most 




THE HEART'S-EASE. 



THE HEART's-EASE. 113 

welcome spectacles that can gratify the eye of 
taste. 

Yet it is when we are somewhat removed, and 
able to take a general view of the landscape, that 
such loveliness is rightly appreciated. Walking 
under the shade of our own withering bowers, where 
the damp, fallen leaves impede our path, and mar 
the lingering beauty of our borders, it is by no 
means so pleasant. The visitation touches us too 
nearly, our individual comforts are too closely 
trenched upon : and gladly would we bargain that, 
after going forth to look upon the beauty of neigh- 
bouring plantations in their progress towards utter 
decay, we might return to our especial garden, 
finding it exempt from the universal doom : as 
thickly clustering with green leaves as when sum- 
mer first put on her finished livery. 

I have thought of this, as illustrating in some 
degree my feeling, when I met with narratives of 
interesting characters, whose passage from mortal 
to immortal life is arrayed in new glories, like the 
fading woods of autumn. I gaze, and admire, and 
rejoice on behalf of the privileged saints ; whose 
hour of approaching departure is the loveliest period 
of their visible sojourn here : but when it is upon 
mine own familiar friend that the visitation comes 
— when the tree that shelters me is to be stripped, 
when the verdure that gladdens my retreat is to 
fade away — how different are the feelings excited ! 
To the eye of a more remote spectator, the withering 
i 



114 THE HEART'S-EASE. 

of my bowers may form, perchance, the most beau- 
tiful spot in a widely variegated landscape : to me 
it is a source of comfortless repining, excepting only 
as faith looks confidently onward to the outburst- 
ing of a future, and a brighter vegetation. 

By daily care, the fallen honours of the nut, the 
lilac, the ash, and the acacia are removed from my 
sheltered border, where still the dear little heart's- 
ease, now revived by autumnal damps, retains its 
smiling aspect. During a droughty summer, the 
flowers lost much of their beauty, diminishing in 
size, and changing their colours for shades less 
bright : but now they stand arrayed as gorgeously 
as ever, telling again the familiar tale of him who, 
in far brighter apparel, is adorning the bowers of 
heaven. It was always my purpose to return to 
this subject : but I reserved it until my garden 
should begin to look sad ; because in the retrospec- 
tion of what God showed me, while privileged to 
contemplate the character of D. I find a cordial 
for fainting hours. 

I have frequently wished to classify the beautiful 
features of that gifted mind ; but I never could 
succeed in it. Like my border of heart's-ease, it 
was full of variety ; and perfect, harmonious order 
reigned throughout the abundant distribution : but 
so many excellences shone forth at once upon the 
view, that it was hardly possible to take them in 
succession, to confine the gaze to a single tint, or to 
a single combination of tints ; unless when, in the 



THE HEART's-EASE. 115 

actual scene of some passing day, circumstances 
called forth a separate, a peculiar manifestation of 
the grace most needed at the time. It was as when 
I cull one flower from the many, and bear it away, 
to ponder on its individual beauties. 

I have spoken of gifts : now one remarkable trait 
in D. was the tenacity with which he clung to the 
principle, that all in him, not hateful and repulsive, 
was a special gift, purchased by the blood of the 
cross. The usual close of his letters ran in these 
words, c yours, by the grace of God, most affection- 
ately.' I once asked him why he used this expres- 
sion ; his answer was, c Because by nature, I am so 
vilely selfish, that sovereign grace alone can implant 
in my spirit one right impulse of disinterested af- 
fection. " Hateful, and hating one another," is 
the description of such as me : and I could not 
honestly love you, if the constraining love of Christ 
did not compel me to it.' Many can use such de- 
preciating language concerning themselves ; and, 
doubtless, many do so with sincerity : but there 
was a sorrowful earnestness in his remarks on the 
inward depravity, that always left me without power 
to reply. 

On one occasion, when several of us were assem- 
bled, the conversation turned on passing events, 
scenes, and persons. D. bore his part in it with his 
accustomed sprightliness ; but presently leaned back 
in his chair, with a look of pained abstraction. I 
addressed him, and his reply was, ' These are all 
I 2 



116 THE HEART's-EASE. 

material things ; they engross our thoughts, and 
devour our time. Shall we never rise ahove sen- 
sible objects 1 I often strive to do so, but I am 
pulled back, and fettered down, by the mass of 
matter. I am oppressed by it : why do you not 
help me to throw off the weight ? why is not our 
conversation more in heaven % ' This was spoken 
with a feeling that approached to irritation ; but he 
followed it up immediately, by sweetly leading the 
way in an interesting inquiry into what he used to 
call the progress of prayer. I could not but think 
of the expression " We that are in this tabernacle 
do groan, being burdened " — and when, just three 
months after, I saw him reposing in his coffin, in 
that very room, how sweet was the recollection of 
his secret groaning after what he now so fully en- 
joys, clothed upon with his house from heaven : and 
his mortality swallowed up in life ! 

About that time, he made a remark that impressed 
me deeply, and, I hope, abidingly. We attended 
the ministry of his beloved friend H., and on one 
occasion, adverting to certain criticisms that had 
been passed on his discourses by some who seemed 
to sit in judgment on their teacher, I asked him, 
6 How is it, that while they call one of his sermons 
fine, and another dry, and so forth, I find them all 
so profitable, and always come away well fed ? ' 
With animated quickness he replied, ' I'll tell you 
how it is : you pray for him.' i Indeed I do : and 
that he may be taught to teach me.' < Aye, there it 



THE HEART'S-EASE. 117 

is : and your prayer is answered. Now mark me ; 
the preacher and the flock either feed or starve one 
another : what they withhold from him in prayers ? 
they lose in doctrine. Those who merely listen to 
cavil, or to admire, come away empty of spiritual 
food. Those who give liberally to their minister in 
secret prayer for him, have their souls made fat by 
the very same doctrine that falls unblessed upon 
others/ He added, with emotion, c Bear dear H. 
more and more upon your heart before our Father's 
throne, and you will feast more largely upon the 
banquet that he spreads.' I have to be thankful 
that my friend's counsel was not lost upon me ; 
from that shepherd, indeed, I was soon removed ; 
and very soon he followed D. to glory : but I had 
already carried the lesson into another pasture ; 
where, richly and abundantly as all were fed, mine 
always appeared a Benjamin's mess ; for 1 had 
learned the secret of the profitable barter which I 
would commend to every Christian hearer ; instant, 
affectionate, individual intercession for the teacher, 
in the spirit of faith : then may we sit, contented, 
and humbly confident to receive the assured answer > 
in the portion which he is commissioned to divide. 

It was the delight of D. by every means, to draw 
closer the bond of union between the pastor and his 
flock : and that was a blessed work. Woe to the 
hand that wantonly severs them ! It is the Lord's 
prerogative to visit a people by removing their most 
gifted teachers into a corner, even as it was also his 



118 THE HEART'S-EASE. 

to render the scattering of his church, by means 
of fiery persecution, available for the spread of sound 
doctrine through Phenice, and Cyprus, and Antioch : 
but not the less sacrilegious is the blow that snaps 
asunder a tie which the Lord hath blessed ; and I 
was left to appreciate the full beauty of that feature 
in D.'s spiritual character, long after he was taken 
from mortal view : as the balmy warmth of life- 
breathing Spring is doubly endeared to our remem- 
brance, when we shiver before the rough blasts of a 
surly devastating November. 

Well : the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth, and 
man cannot dethrone him. He worketh all things 
after the counsel of his will, and man cannot thwart 
his purposes. Nay, when most thoroughly set to do 
mischief, man is but blindly forwarding the work 
of eternal love and truth, even towards those whose 
welfare is the farthest from his wish. My little 
heart's-ease tells me this, in its own quiet language, 
as it looks up from under the heap of unsightly 
leaves that, by falling thickly upon it, have shel- 
tered it from the evening frost, and left it sparkling 
with salubrious moisture, when I take away and 
give entrance to the sunbeams. Often, very often, 
has D. expatiated on the same sweet truth, repre- 
senting the many ways in which my abounding 
trials were working together for good, already per- 
ceptible. I remember the lesson, and cherish it in 
my heart ; but sorely do I miss the cheerful look, 
the encouraging smile, that were wont to accompany 



THE HEART'S-EASE. 119 

it. D. was utterly incapable of that cheap gene- 
rosity which bestows on the sufferer a scrap of ad- 
vice, perchance a text of Scripture, and thinks it 
has done the part of a Christian comforter. He first 
placed himself so fully in the situation of the per- 
son afflicted, by the exercise of that beautiful consi- 
deration wherewith God had gifted him ; and made 
so many allowances for the peculiarity of individual 
feeling and circumstance, that his language assumed 
rather the character of consoling thoughts, inwardly 
suggested to the mourner, than of another man's 
ideas, verbally communicated. Surely if there be 
one gift more to be coveted than another, in the 
social intercourse of poor pilgrims through a valley 
of Baca, it is this. It is easy to lecture a complain- 
ing brother ; it is easy to show him how lightly you 
regard his present affliction ; and thus to silence the 
rising murmur, bidding it retire and rankle in the 
heart which knoweth its own bitterness : but oh ! 
how wise, how tender, how Christ-like, is the love 
that voluntarily places itself under his cross, poises 
its weight, and speaks the language not of one who 
merely sees, but of one who has felt it ! 

To rejoice with them that did rejoice, was a duty 
rendered easy indeed, by the extraordinary cheer- 
fulness of D.'s mind. Looks, words, gestures, were 
all put in requisition to express the delight of his 
soul, when he saw his companions happy. So joy- 
ous was the spirit of his religion, that it grieved him 
to witness a sombre cast on the countenances of 



120 THE HEARTHS-EASE. 

those engaged in devotional exercises. Calm, sub- 
dued, collected, and intent, he always appeared at 
such times ; but never, to use his own expression, 
c pulled a long face,' for the worship of God. Ap- 
proaching a reconciled Father, through Christ Jesus, 
he could not conceive why the delight that animates 
the heart, and beams in the looks of an affectionate 
grateful child, should be banished from his. Let 
those who remember D. in his constant place, beside 
the pillar at Long Acre, acknowledge that a counte- 
nance more brightly irradiated with love and joy 
never shone among that privileged flock. Heart's- 
ease all over, D. looked up and smiled : you could 
not gaze on him and be melancholy. This, too, is a 
gift to be coveted : a happy look bears eloquent tes- 
timony that "the peace which passeth all under- 
standing" is no chimera ; and that godliness hath 
the promise of this life, as well as of that which is 
to come. 

Yet the word is sure : " In the world ye shall 
have tribulation ;" and D. experienced it in a degree 
little suspected by those who watched the expression 
of his happy countenance. There are insects that, 
in the darkness of the night, steal forth to prey 
upon the gentle flower that typifies D. ; but though 
they sometimes rend its petals, they cannot mar the 
lovely bloom of what remains ; and thus had he his 
undiscovered enemies — cares that he revealed to 
none but his heavenly Father, and disappointments 
blighting the dearest projects of an affectionate 



THE HEARTS-EASE. 121 

heart. He felt their gnawing progress, but he knew 
the wise purpose for which they were sent ; and 
though, in thoughts and visions of the night, his 
spirit was often sorely harassed, yet the morning 
sun beheld him bright and cheerful as ever, through 
the freshening of that early dew that never failed 
to visit • his prayerful chamber. Occasionally he 
has admitted to me that so it was ; for he well knew 
that a fellowship in suffering would add power to 
his ready consolations : and when he found me too 
much absorbed in my own griefs, then — only then 
it was that he would impart to me a portion of his 
secret sorrow, just sufficient to rouse my interest, to 
excite my sympathy, that he might immediately 
turn the discourse to the sweet solacings of the Di- 
vine Comforter, which he described as being so 
effectual, so rich, as to make him, 6 through the grace 
of God, more thankful for a little tribulation than 
he should have been for a vast abundance of pros- 
perity.' And thus delicately would he insinuate the 
comfort which my fretful spirit was unwilling to 
receive in a more direct way. 

The last Christmas that D. celebrated with the 
militant church on earth, will long be remembered 
by those who passed it with him. It fell on a Sun- 
day ; and he had busied himself much on behalf of 
his poor children, the wild little Irish, who attended 
our dear schools. It is customary, on the Sabbath, 
to give each child, on leaving the school, a thick 
slice of bread and butter, except in cases of flagrant 



122 the heart's-ease. 

misconduct, when the culprits must march past the 
tempting board empty-handed. The importance of 
this boon cannot be appreciated, but by those who 
know something of the squalid misery that pervades 
St. Giles', and that very few of our children tasted 
any thing better than half a meal of potatoes on any 
day throughout the week. A good piece of well- 
buttered bread is a prodigious feast to them. How- 
ever, on the day in question, D., as if conscious 
that it was his last time of celebrating the happy 
season among them, provided, for the afternoon, a 
more luxurious entertainment. He filled his blue 
bag with excellent plum-cake, and merrily remarked 
to me, that for once all his clients would be satisfied 
with its contents. To this he added the more dura- 
ble gift of some small books and tracts ; and very 
delightful it was to us, the teachers, as we stood 
about him, to witness the reciprocal looks of love 
between the donor, and the gleeful recipients of 
those gifts. Gravity was, of course, out of the ques- 
tion. I should pity the person who tried to look 
solemn among our dear Irish children, when the 
work of the school is over. Neither fluttering rags, 
ill-suited to repel the season's cold, nor naked feet, 
cut and bruised by the filthy pavement of St. Giles, 
nor famished forms that bespoke the weekly fast, 
could counterbalance the mirthful aspect wherewith 
they approached the pile of cake, and the delighted 
grin of each farewell obeisance. My poor dear Irish 
children ! Why do so few among the wealthy ones 



the heart's-ease. 123 

of London take thought for that swarming hive of 
ever-active heings who, hy a little devotion of time, 
a little sacrifice of the unrighteous mammon, might 
he trained to industry, and piety and peace ! Alas ! 
even of those who partook of D.'s parting feast, are 
not there now many to he found in the dens of pro- 
fligacy, the dungeons of detected crime ? It is the 
shame, and will prove the curse of Christian Eng- 
land, that the very heart and centre of her gorgeous 
metropolis should form a throne on which Satan is 
permitted to hold an almost unquestioned reign over 
the subjects of her empire. Many a missionary is 
girding himself to the work of the Lord in foreign 
lands : but few are the missionaries who will step 
fifty yards out of their daily path, to uplift the light 
of the gospel among the dark abodes of wretched St. 
Giles'. 

D. worked diligently : so that when his sun went 
down at noon, he had accomplished more than would 
be deemed, by the bulk of those in his sphere, a full 
day's labour. He has entered into his rest, to shine 
as the sun, and as the stars, for ever and ever, in the 
kingdom of his Father. Is the prize that he has 
grasped, worth striving after ? Go to St. Giles's, 
and do likewise. Is the work that he has wrought, 
meet to be copied ? Go, and gather the desolate 
little ones, whom he loved to lead to Christ. I can- 
not resume the subject of a flower, while my soul is 
oppressed with the sorrows of thousands of perish- 
ing souls, enclosed in bodies that also are perishing 



124 the heartVease. 

in want, and all the fearful train of consequences 
attendant thereon. If I begin with D. I shall be 
constrained to end my paper, as he ended his life — 
in pleading with the favoured children of God, for 
pity on the poor, the destitute children of Erin. 




THE LAURISTINUS. 



CHAPTER XI. 



THE LAURISTINUS. 



" The memory of the just is blessed." Happy are 
they who comprehend how sinful mortal man may 
be just with God — who, in taking up the happy 
boast, " He is near that justifieth, who shall con- 
demn me 1 " can discern as their sole claim to this 
glorious immunity, the justifying righteousness of 
the Lord Jesus Christ, in virtue of which their ini- 
quity is forgiven, and their sin is covered ; their per- 
sons are accepted, and their souls are saved. 

I knew an aged man, who lived through many 
long years in the delighted contemplation of this 
mystery ; who realized in its fullest extent the ap- 
plication thereof to himself ; who, taught daily to 
comprehend more of the love of Christ which pass- 
eth knowledge, had a well-spring of love flowing 
from the depths of his renewed heart, towards every 
child of Adam. When I saw him last, he was green 
and flourishing ; in the seventy-sixth year of his 



126 THE LAURISTINUS. 

pilgrimage — aye, and blossoming too in all the rich, 
vigorous life that distinguishes my beautiful Lau- 
ristinus, now spreading its wide arms over the 
border, and supplying the vacant place of many 
withered flowers. Very lately, I asked of a dear 
friend from the remote corner where this aged 
servant of God had been stationed, how our valued 
brother was prospering ? The reply was startling, 
because unexpected : it elicited some tears, but they 
were not those of grief, — ' Six months ago, he de- 
parted to his Lord.' 

I have been a sad egotist throughout these papers ; 
and much am I tempted to mix a deal of self in 
this. But with such a subject before me, I must 
forbear ; only stating, that it was the privilege of 
this gracious old man to water the good seed sown 
by another beloved hand, in the heart of my bro- 
ther : that it was his to remove all my doubts and 
fears on the subject : and that the most trying event 
of my whole life became the means of bringing me 
acquainted with one whose conversation was more 
peculiarly in heaven, and his spirit more tinged 
with the joy of him who knows the blessedness of 
his future mansion, than that of almost any one 
whom I have met with. 

The sphere of his labour was in a remote part of 
Ireland. And here I must beg my reader to remark 
something which I find it very difficult to establish, 
that I am not a native of Ireland. English by birth 
and education, and doubly English by deeply-rooted 



THE LAURISTINUS. 127 

prejudice, I first visited Ireland, long after my 
habits and tastes had become fixed, with a most in- 
veterate determination not to like it — in plain terms, 
to hate the country, and to despise the people. 
This resolution, by no means a singular one I fear, 
I was enabled by hard struggling, to maintain, for 
nearly a whole day : but every particle of frost- 
work melted at last beneath the fervent beams of 
that warm and smiling welcome, which will win its 
way to the heart of every one who has a heart to 
be reached. Subsequently, the glorious and far 
brighter beams of divine truth burst upon my view, 
beneath the sky of that beloved island : and there 
my spiritual infancy was cradled ; there the hand of 
Christian brotherhood was stretched forth to uphold 
and to guide my tottering steps in the new and nar- 
row path : there I was built up on this most holy 
faith, and taught to wield, however feebly, the wea- 
pons that are not carnal. I left the country, as an 
exile leaves his home, I pined and drooped, and still 
does my heart yearn towards its beloved shores. But 
I am no otherwise Irish ; and I have said so much, 
because the frequent recurrence to scenes and sub- 
jects connected with that country, in these pages, 
might appear to be the natural effect of patriotic 
feeling, in one born on its green carpet. In me, it is 
the offspring, not only of deep and grateful love, but 
of a most solemn conviction that we are verily guilty, 
in a heinous degree, concerning our brethren in that 
most interesting portion of the British dominions. 



128 THE LAUR1STINUS. 

It was, as I have said, in a remote corner of the 
emerald isle, that the Lord planted this nourishing 
tree of righteousness, within the sanctuary of His 
church. He was, indeed, a faithful pastor, burning 
with zeal, overflowing with love, and singularly 
gifted for the peculiar work to which he was called. 
There was an exuberance of animal spirits, a fund 
of rich humour, a perpetual flashing of original wit, 
that would perhaps have been unsuitable to his high 
and holy office, and which, therefore, the Lord might 
have seen fit to subdue, had he not been stationed 
where such qualifications exactly fitted him to win 
the attention of those around, and so to lead them 
to give audience, even where they had been in- 
structed to repel, with brutal force, every attempt 
to fill their ears with sound doctrine. Of all cha- 
racters, I know none more disgusting than a clerical 
buffoon ; but far from the slightest approximation 
to such an anomaly was our dear brother S. Even 
the sparkles of his wit were bright with fire from 
the altar of God, and the quaint expressions that 
extorted a smile from every hearer, were never 
culled for effect : — it was the natural eloquence of 
a mind full of noble simplicity, and venting the 
abundance of its treasures too eagerly to pause over 
the medium by which they were conveyed. To set 
forth Christ crucified, as the alone and all-sufficient 
refuge for sinners, was the single object of his life ; 
and to effect it he cared not how homely, how 
strangely unique, or how classically elegant, was 



THE LAURISTINUS, 129 

the language, or the metaphor, employed. Inti- 
mately acquainted with the vernacular tongue of 
the native Irish, it was the ruling desire of his heart 
to see it adopted, and cherished, and consecrated to 
the service of God, by his fellow-labourers. In the 
month of April, 1830, this aged Christian first, as 
he expressed it, stepped off the edge of his own 
green carpet, to accompany a deputation to London 
for this very purpose. He appeared on the plat- 
form in Freemason's Hall, and in a strain of ori- 
ginal humour, combined with deep pathos, he placed 
us. as it were, in the very midst of his desolate coun- 
trymen, pourtraying the waywardness of their 
minds, and the destitution of their souls, in language 
the most thrilling. Then, by a sudden transition, 
he led all our awakened sympathies into a scene 
close by : he showed us that portion of poor Irish 
outcasts congregated in the heart of our metropolis ; 
and clasping his hands with almost a cry of pas- 
sionate appeal, { Give but one bread-shop for my 
starving people : open but one room, in wretched 
St. Giles, where they may find the food of life in 
their own language ! You English Christians, rich 
in your many privileges, will you let the starving 
souls of my countrymen cry against you at the 
day of judgment ? One little bread-shop — give us 
but that, and thousands unborn shall call you 
blessed ? ' 

God be praised, the plea was successful ; and he 
has met. before the throne of the Lamb, some whose 

K 



130 THE LAURISTINUS. 

polluted garments were washed clean in His blood, 
through the ministrations of a blessed ( bread-shop,' 
established by English Christians, before that year 
had closed on the wretched population of St. Giles. 

In 1833, he came again on his mission of love, to 
rejoice over the work, and to stimulate us anew. 
He then appeared as hale and hearty, in his green 
old age, as before : but he had a witness within, 
that the earthly tabernacle was beginning to fall. 
He said to a dear brother, ' I am looking for prefer- 
ment ; ' and the upward glance, the finger pointed 
towards heaven, the joyous smile that spoke not of 
this world's transitory possessions, all indicated his 
meaning. How, and where he put off this mortal 
coil, I know not : but this I know — that he had so 
put on Christ in the days of healthful vigour, and 
so served Christ in his generation here, as to leave 
no shadow of doubt or solicitude as to his beatific 
realization of all that his soul longed after, in the 
presence of God. 

It is in my garden that I especially delight to 
dwell on the memory of this endeared old man ! re- 
calling many of its beautiful adaptations, in tracing 
the constant analogy between the visible works of 
God and those which are imperceptible to outward 
sense. I have two precious letters of his, from 
which I must extract a few passages, to illustrate 
my meaning. The reader will easily surmise that 
they referred to the trying event which introduced 
me to his sympathizing regard. 



THE LAURISTINUS. 131 

e I cannot describe to you the great and universal 
concern and grief with which the account of your 
dear brother's sudden and unexpected removal from 
a world of trials and tribulations was received at 
C — . It seemed as if " all faces were turned into 
paleness," and all tongues cried out, " Alas ! my 
brother." But there is a needs- be for every thing 
of this kind that occurs : what our Lord is pleased 
to do, we know not now, but we shall know here- 
after. There is one precious knowledge, however, 
and that is, that " all things work together for 
good to them that love God ; to them that are the 
called," &c, this sweet drop of gospel honey has 
often rendered palatable to me the bitterest infusions 
that ever were mixed in my cup of life. But why 
should I talk of one drop alone — is not our hive (our 
bible) full of honey ? full of consolations, full of 
promises, and privileges, and prospects, and assur- 
ances that render the sufferings of this transitory 
life, in the eye of a Christian philosopher, of as little 
consequence as the buzzing of the summer flies 1 
You are tried, my sister beloved, and I condole with 
you from the very bottom of my heart : but do 
suffer a ' Paul the aged,' to remind you of what I 
know the Spirit and word of God has already taught 
you, that it is good for you to be afflicted : that it is 
through trials and tribulations we enter (or make 
advances into) the kingdom of heaven ; that when 
you are thrown into the furnace of affliction, Christ 
stands by the fire ; and that sanctified afflictions 
K 2 



132 



THE LAURISTINUS. 



are spiritual promotions. The darker the cloud, my 
dear co-heiress, the more vivid the lightning : and 
the more we suffer in the flesh, the more (very 
often) we rejoice in the Spirit. The rainbow always 
appears most bright in the most broken weather ; and 
He of whom it is an emblem, manifests himself most 
clearly to the mourning, the afflicted, the penitent, 
the broken heart. May the oil and wine of the gospel 
be plentifully poured into your bleeding wounds, 
by the good Samaritan whom we love and serve ! ' 

On this last sentence a tear fell, from the compas- 
sionate old man ; and no words can do justice to 
the feelings with which I look upon the little blot, 
now that God himself has wiped away all tears from 
those eyes, and given him to see how acceptable in 
His sight was this cup of consolation, bestowed on 
one of the least and most unworthy of those w T hom 
he vouchsafes to call His. 

The following extract, from a subsequent letter, 
very sweetly now applies to the writer, who is, as I 
humbly and confidently trust, rejoicing with him 
who was its original subject. ( Yes, with him the 
bitterness of death is past : the ministration of mor- 
tality is broken, and the liberated, the disembodied 
spirit is with God, who gave it. Of what conse- 
quence is it, my loved, my respected sister and 
friend, how or when the earthly house of the taber- 
nacle we now inhabit is torn down, or dissolved, 
when we knov; that we have a " building of God, a 
house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens," 



THE LAURISTINUS. 133 

to remove to and occupy ? There is a precatory, or 
optative expression in the Romish Missal (service 
for the dead) with respect to a person removed from 
time into eternity, which is not as comfortable as 
the scriptural declarations are on that important 
subject, 6 requiescat in pace/ — may he rest in peace ! 
This does not pour into the bleeding, the grieving, 
heart of a surviving friend, the sweet, the refresh- 
ing, the sanative wine and oil that is conveyed to a 
Christian's afflicted soul, by that heavenly voice 
heard by John, which pronounced the dead to be 
blessed who died in the Lord, "from henceforth " — 
from the instant of their dissolution — enjoying, not 
wishing, waiting for or expecting that " rest that 
remaineth for the people of God." Knowing then, 
and being fully and satisfactorily assured of this 
consolatory truth, that the dead in Christ are blessed, 
that they are not lost, but gone before ; that our 
adored Redeemer, in the capacious mansions of his 
Father's house, has prepared a place for all our dear 
departed Christian friends, and is preparing a place 
for ourselves, " let not our hearts be" over anxiously, 
immoderately, unreasonably, or irreligiously, " trou- 
bled." Let us, in the present lamented instance, 
say, and be thankful that we can say it, e requiescit 
in pace ' — he rests in peace. And as it was the 
Lord who gave him for a time to his relatives and 
friends, and it is the same Lord who has been 
pleased to take him away, let us all say, " blessed 
be the name of the Lord ! " ' 



134 THE LAURISTINUS. 

There is an exquisite delicacy in the manner of 
conveying these rich consolations to a bereaved 
spirit. A tender caution not to grate upon the 
sense, by seeming to make light of that affliction 
which it professes to soothe, is the most important 
requisite, where real sympathy would display itself. 
My revered friend may, in these extracts speak 
comfort even now to some wounded heart, and fur- 
nish a valuable model to those whose privilege it is 
to administer comfort to others. I have identified 
the lauristinus with this departed teacher ; and I 
desire to profit by the recollection, whenever I glance 
upon that luxuriant shrub ; the white flowers of 
which bear a distant resemblance to the fair blos- 
soms of May. These usher in the many-coloured 
attendants of blooming Spring ; the others smile 
upon the scene, when deserted even by the last 
lingering relics of sober Autumn. The Lauristinus 
loves to overtop a lofty wall, and to look out beyond 
its native garden upon scenes unadorned by such 
embellishments. It will cast its spreading branches 
over the fence, as if eager to beautify an unculti- 
vated region, and to smile where all was dull, and 
barren, and uninviting. High and stubborn indeed 
is the barrier which separates the watered garden of 
the Lord's church from those who are not only alien- 
ated by a false and idolatrous religion, but rendered 
more inaccessible by dissimilarity of language, which 
few, very few, will trouble themselves to overleap. 
Herein the Lauristinus beautifully typifies the 



THE LAURISTINUS. 135 

venerable S , who surmounted the barrier, and 

spread abroad the gospel invitation, where, other- 
wise, it could not have come. His vigorous growth 
showed how rich was the soil that bore him : his 
healthful abundance proved how careful the hand 
that trained him : and while his aspect invited a 
further acquaintance with both, his example proved 
that no obstacle, really insurmountable, existed to 
prevent the external desert from becoming a garden 
— the waste wilderness from blossoming as the rose. 
In his own beloved, poor country, he was indeed 
a prophet : I know not where his mantle has fallen 
— what favoured lips shall exercise the precious gift, 
so available to the souls of his Irish-speaking neigh- 
bours : but, last spring, a young sucker from the 
ancient Lauristinus was transplanted to another 
part of my garden, to replace a stunted holly that 
would neither grow nor die. I passed it to-day ; 
and most richly had it spread abroad, while bursting- 
buds tufted every sprig that shot from among the 
dark glossy leaves in youthful luxuriance. It was 
a cheering sight : my heart bade it go on to grow 
and prosper, and beautify its new station ; while I 
secretly traced out a parallel for it, on the far west- 
ern coast of my beloved isle, and confidently trusted 
that, from the parent tree — now removed to a 
brighter garden — would some be found to have 
sprung who shall cause the desert to rejoice, and 
make glad the solitary places with tidings of ever- 
lasting salvation. 



CHAPTER XII. 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 



How cheerless an aspect would our gardens wear, 
in this dreary month of December, had not some 
plants been endued with hardihood to retain their 
leaves, when the greater proportion are stripped 
bare by chilling frosts and blighting winds. It is a 
point of wisdom, plentifully to intersperse our ever- 
greens among the brighter, but more transitory 
children of summer ; and now that the dead leaves 
are finally swept off, and my garden looks once more 
perfectly tidy, I can appreciate the taste that, in 
first laying it out — long before I had ever seen it — 
allotted no small space to plants that would defy 
the season's severity. Of grass there is abundance ; 
but that being easily buried under a light fall of 
snow, I will not glory in it. There is a full pro- 
portion of classic laurel, the slender Alexandrine, 
the towering Portuguese, and our more common 
species, distinguished by the glossy polish of its 
leaves. The fir, the cypress, and the yew, present 




THE HOLLY-BUSH. 



Page 145. 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 137 

their varied, yet not dissimilar foliage : and in a 
conspicuous place stands the spreading rhododen- 
dron, prepared to unfold his exquisite blossoms to 
the first warm breath of spring. An arbutus of 
large growth displays its mimic strawberries, pend- 
ant among the leaves, where lately shone those ele- 
gant white clusters that so remarkably attract the 
roving butterfly, and the diligent bee. This tree I 
reckon among the gems of the garden. Farther on, 
where my rose-bushes have well nigh perished from 
the antique wall, a profusion of ivy flings its strag- 
gling shoots downwards from the summit, as if soli- 
citous to occupy the vacant space. There too, the 
lauristinus flourishes, in full vigour and beauty : 
while the dwarf box, well trimmed, edges my flower- 
beds, and, trained into shrubs, affords a pleasant 
variety, where the china rose retains its pale green 
leaf, with firm, upright buds, ready to expand in 
succession throughout the year. The variegated 
bay occupies a conspicuous post ; and last not least, 
the Holly-Bush abounds, valuable as a fence, beau- 
tiful in the lustre of its highly polished leaves, 
sprinkled with berries of vivid red ; and endeared 
by the sweetest, the purest, the most sacred associ- 
ations that can interest the mind, and elevate the 
soul. 

I wish, with all my heart, that the grandsires 
and granddames of this generation would do some- 
thing to stem that sweeping tide of oblivious folly, 
yclept the march of intellect— the progress of re- 



133 THE HOLLY-BUSH. 

fmement. It is now intolerably vulgar, insupport- 
ably childish, and popishly superstitious, to deck 
our houses at Christmas-tide with the shining holly, 
the absence of which was almost unknown among 
some who may yet be proved to have excelled in 
true wisdom this our vaunted age of reason. I have 
fought many battles with my pious friends, in de- 
fence of my pertinacious adherence to this good old 
custom. Sorry should I be, to leave the holly un- 
cropped, or the house unadorned with its bright 
honours, on that most blessed anniversary. Roast- 
beef and plum-pudding, home-brewed ale, and 
Christmas berries, have, certainly, no necessary con- 
nection with the spiritual aspirations required of us : 
and which the renewed heart will delight in breath- 
ing forth, while reminded, in the beautiful services 
of our scriptural church, that on the occasion com- 
memorated, a great multitude of the heavenly host 
disdained not to take the lead in songs that were 
made for poor sinners of the dust ; " Glory to God 
in the highest, on earth peace, good- will towards 
men." But this I will maintain, that our non-ob- 
servance of ancient usages, is anything but a proof 
of growing spirituality of feeling : and I very much 
question whether those who contemn the sprigs of 
c Christmas ' stuck over my mantle-piece in honour 
of this precious festival, are wiser than the disciples 
of old, who cut down branches of palm-trees, and 
strewed them in the way. 

Four years since, when the dumb boy was fast 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 139 

sinking under the fatal disease which, in a few 
weeks, was to terminate his mortal career, we went 
out, on Christmas eve, by his desire, to bring him 
some holly. One of our party, who, to say truth, 
was then still under the dominion of popery, carried 
her zeal so far, that almost a forest was brought into 
Jack's sitting-room : and I was remonstrating, when 
he interrupted me with ' Good, good ! ' An ex- 
pression of the most divine sweetness overspread his 
countenance, while, raising his meek eyes to me, he 
took a small sprig of the holly, pricking the back of 
his hand with its pointed leaf, and showed me the 
little scars left by it. Then, selecting a long shoot, 
he made a sign to twist it about his head, described 
the pain that it would give him to do so : and with 
starting tears said, ' Jesus Christ.' Who could fail 
to read in those eloquent looks and actions, his vivid 
recollection of the crown of thorns 1 He then 
pointed to the berries, thinly scattered on the holly- 
bough ; and told me God put them there to remind 
him of the drops of blood that stained his Saviour's 
brow, when so crowned. I stood before the boy, 
filled with conscious shame, for that I had never 
traced the touching symbol ; while the piteous ex- 
pression of his pale countenance bespoke that ex- 
quisite realization of the scene, to which I never 
could attain. How cold and hard did I feel my own 
heart to be, when I might even see the melting of 
that poor boy's under the sense of what his Redeemer 
had suffered for him. For him, indeed : such an 



140 THE HOLLY-BUSH. 

undoubting appropriation of the work to his own 
eternal gain, few are privileged to witness — fewer to 
experience. 

After this, he requested us to surround the room 
on all sides with the holly, until he sat as in a 
bower ; and then endeavoured to instruct his sister 
on the great difference between loving the symbol 
and regarding it superstitiously. He adverted with 
grief and indignation to the popish chapels, where, 
at this season a more abundant measure of adoration 
is offered at the idol-shrines : and strongly insisted 
that all honour should be paid to the living God 
alone. 

Attached as I always was to the old custom of 
decorating our houses and churches with the holly- 
bough, it may be believed that the scene just 
sketched left an impression not calculated to decrease 
my partiality for these usuages of other days. From 
that evening, the holly has been to me a consecrated 
plant : and every sprig that I have gathered has fur- 
nished me with a text, for long and touching medi- 
tation on the subject of our redemption, — on the 
character of Him who achieved it. 

When commencing these sketches, I promised 
that they should embrace none but individuals who 
were known to me, — how solemn is the question that 
presents itself ! — Have /known Jesus Christ ? " Him 
to know is life eternal." Well I know my need of 
him : my total, and everlasting ruin without him : 
I know his power and willingness to save, even 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 141 

to the uttermost, the very chief of sinners who 
come to God by him — but to say that I know 
him as the dumb boy knew him, that I can with so 
steady a hand lay hold on Christ, as being made of 
God unto me, wisdom, and righteousness, and sane- 
tification, and redemption — and that, too, to the ut- 
most bound of my necessities — thus to believe, and 
believing to rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of 
glory — no, I dare not yet say it. Often have I asked 
the boy, ' Does Jack love Jesus Christ ? ' The reply 
has always been, with a bright and placid smile, 
6 Yes, Jack very much loves Jesus Christ — Jesus 
Christ loves poor Jack.' But if I ask myself, Do I 
love him 1 I can but tremble, and say, ' I desire so 
to do.' Yet I have the full conviction that he has 
loved me, and given himself for me : and if I could 
unlearn enough to become as wise as Jack, I might 
attain to his blessed assurance. 

Taking the holly as Jack viewed it — as a type of 
that which is salvation to all who believe, — how 
many interesting points of resemblance may be 
traced ! Passing through the highways, where 
every foot is free to tread, we mark the shining 
evergreen, with its bright berries, conspicuous by 
the road-side, inviting us to make the prize our own, 
to bear it away, that our hearths may be gladdened 
by its verdure, more rich and durable in midwinter, 
than is the foliage of summer roses. Even so, sal- 
vation is found of them that seek it not ; freely, 
abundantly offered to all whose ear the glad tidings 



142 THE HOLLY-BUSH. 

reaches ; and when by the hand of faith appropriated, 
who shall dispute the possession ? Which of this 
world's fleeting glories can so gladden the heart, and 
beautify the home of its proprietor, as does the un- 
withering leaf of him who is rooted and grounded 
in the hope of the gospel ! 

We cannot indeed, divest the holly of its nume- 
rous thorns ; neither can we separate the Christian 
from his cross, or the promised heaven from the 
" much tribulation " through which it is appointed 
us to attain : but a more touching character is im- 
parted to those thorns, by adopting the idea of the 
dumb boy : every blessing that we reap from the 
grand work of redemption, is a memento of the suf- 
ferings of Him, upon whom the chastisement of our 
peace was laid. 

And, in those uncultivated spots where the holly 
grows wild and free, by what a scene is it generally 
surrounded, at this season ! The oak that soars 
above, in the pride of vegetable empire, the elm, and 
the hazle, the hawthorn, and the wild brier, look 
dark and chilling in their leafless guise : no verdant 
neighbour sympathizes with the holly, nor spreads 
its green mantle in cheerful companionship. No 
gaudy butterfly sports around it, nor does the bee 
come forth to ply her busy trade among its branches. 
The snow-drift alone lodges there ; and every howl- 
ing wind vents upon it a passing murmur. Yet 
calm and contented, the beautiful plant uprears its 
head, well pleased to put honour upon a season that 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 143 

few of the gay ones of the earth care to adorn. I 
should be sorry to overlook this ; for it tells me of 
Him who came into this dark and stormy world, to 
suffer and to do what nothing but Almighty love 
could have supported or achieved ; who looked for 
some to take pity, but there was none ; and for 
comforters, but found no man : who not only bore 
the scorn, the rebuke, and the rejection of those in 
whose likeness he vouchsafed to appear, but endured 
the storm of divine wrath, the blasting of the breath 
of that displeasure which had waxed hot against the 
inhabitants of the earth, and to which he presented 
himself, an innocent and a willing mark. 

Then the berries : what a tongue is- theirs, while 
they represent to my eye that which speaketh better 
things than the blood of Abel. Wrung forth in 
slow droppings from the agonized body, which 
sweated blood through the pressure of mental an- 
guish, before the scourge, the thorn, and the nail 
had pierced the sinless flesh of their victim, — how 
precious was that coin which was given to ransom a 
world of lost sinners ! Who can hold back, when 
invited to wash and be clean, in the purifying foun- 
tain 1 And who shall dare to exclude himself, or 
his fellow, from this sphere of an unlimited invi- 
tation 1 

Perchance there may be some, who will trace, in 
my fondness for this type, an approximation to the 
popish doctrine of image-worship. We all know 
that this abominable idolatry originated in the spe- 



144 THE HOLLY-BUSH. 

cious contrivance of exhibiting pictures and images 
in the churches, that, by visible objects, the gazers 
might be stirred up to a more perfect realization of 
what was taught from the pulpit. I should be sorry 
to incur such suspicion ; but, as the introduction of 
holly-boughs into our temples, or the placing of a 
few sprigs over our fire-places, has never yet issued 
in any thing heterodox, as far as I can discover, I 
must still plead for the dear old custom ; still wreathe 
the holly with the misletoe, in grateful acknow- 
ledgment of the mercy that rescued my country 
from the darkness of heathenism — from the san- 
guinary rites that once polluted the shadow of her 
majestic oaks. That king]y tree, himself denuded 
by the hand of winter, can yield no foliage to hon- 
our our sacred festival ; but sends the little misletoe, 
his foster-child, to do homage in his stead. Alas for 
England, when she shall discontinue the observances 
of her pious reformers, her martyrs, and apostles of 
a brighter day ! I grant that these are only sha- 
dows, yet, when the sun shines brightly, what body 
is without one 1 It may be our pride to cast away 
such shades ; but when I can no longer trace them, 
I am inclined to apprehend, either that the substance 
has melted away, or that the sunbeam falls not so 
clearly as it was wont to do. 

Yet not alone to the sufferings of a crucified Sa- 
viour do I hold the holly sacred. I know that He 
who once came to visit us in great humility, shall 
yet come again in his glorious majesty, to judge 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 145 

both the quick and dead. I know that he will ap- 
pear, in the splendors of immortality, in the gran- 
deur of his Almighty power, while the wrecks of all 
that this world cherishes, of pomp, and pride, and 
greatness, shall crumble beneath his feet, and pass 
away like the last fragments of November's shrivel- 
led leaves before the whirlwind. Then every eye 
shall see him, and they also which pierced him, and 
all the kindreds of the earth shall wail because of 
him. No longer stained with the crimson drops of 
his own life-stream, his vesture shall then be dipped 
in the blood of his enemies. He who with tears 
and groans achieved, unassisted, the work of our re- 
demption, shall then alone tread the great winepress 
of the wrath of God — then his enemies shall feel 
his hand, for he will tread them in his anger, and 
trample them in his fury, and their blood shall be 
sprinkled upon his garments. Lovely and precious 
indeed is the accepted Saviour, to the souls who 
have made him their refuge : terrible, beyond what 
heart can conceive, will be the slighted, the rejected 
Saviour, to those who, going on frowardly in the 
way of their own hearts, make light of his offered 
salvation, and treasure up for themselves the most 
dreadful of all inflictions — the wrath of the Lamb. 

I am deeply convinced, that an apprehension of 
being led into the unscriptural lengths to which 
some have carried their speculations on unfulfilled 
prophecy, drives many into the opposite extreme 
of shrinking from the contemplation of that which 



146 THE HOLLY-BUSH. 

is clearly revealed. Our Lord has given us a solemn, 
a reiterated injunction to watch for those things 
that, in the fulness of time, shall come to pass : he 
has made his warnings profitable to every interme- 
diate period of the church ; but, inasmuch as it is not 
his will to add another revelation to what is already 
perfect, he has laid down marks and signs whereby 
his people may safely judge when the events pre- 
dicted are about to take place. Around us, in this 
our day, every sign is rapidly accumulating, — and 
shall we close our eyes to the awful fact 1 — Shall 
we refuse to watch, and to expect the fulfilment to 
which God himself vouchsafes to direct our atten- 
tion ; — Shall we arraign his wisdom, in preparing 
us for those things that are beginning to come upon 
the earth ? Long has Satan triumphed over all 
that was created so beautiful and good, crushing it 
into a scene of wintry devastation, and sending 
across it many a storm, originating in the perverted 
elements of depraved humanity : and surely it is a 
glorious hope that spreads before us a speedy ter- 
mination to this Satanic reign — that gives promise 
of another and a brighter spring ; when the Sun of 
Righteousness shall arise and shine, throughout the 
wide range of our beautiful sphere, and the king- 
doms of this world shall become the kingdom of our 
God. and of his Christ. 




THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 



Pajje 157. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 



< A happy new year,' — from how many thou- 
sands of voices is that greeting heard ! I love to re- 
ceive it, even when friendships are so young, that 
it is the first occasion offered of exchanging the 
kindly salutation : hut there is a feeling that does 
not display itself; an under-current, deep and strong, 
rolling over the graves of hy-gone years, and sound- 
ing in secret a knell that is not heard amid the 
cheerful tones of the upper world. True, by the 
mercy of God, a happy new year may he mine ; 
truly happy, if his grace render it a year of spiritual 
improvement, of perceptible progress towards the 
consummation of all real bliss : but flesh is very 
slow to receive such interpretation of a term long 
applied to the pleasant things of time and sense ; 
and instead of being rejoiced at having learned the 
truest meaning of an abused term, or being brought 
to understand the right appropriation of the empha- 

L 2 



148 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

tic words — c Happy are ye,' how prone are we to 
look back upon the worldly substance — or worldly 
shadows — that we have bartered ; while the pearl 
of great price, though perhaps acknowledged to be 
our own, may lie before us almost unheeded — cer- 
tainly undervalued — as the regretful sigh escapes. 

This, at least, is my case : knowing and closing 
with the announcement, that we must through 
much tribulation enter the kingdom of heaven : and 
being well assured, that He who spake the word, 
" In the world ye shall have tribulation," hath in 
him no variableness, neither shadow of turning ; 
how wonderful is it that every light affliction, sent 
to wean me from earth, should be regarded as a 
strange thing ; and a sort of careful account-book 
kept from year to year, of what has been done 
against my will, though in answer to my prayers, as 
I number successive bereavements, and secretly ask, 
" was there ever any sorrow like my sorrow, where- 
with the Lord hath afflicted me V I meet a funeral 
party, perhaps in my daily work, and compassionate 
thoughts may follow the weeping mourners, as they 
hold their sad, slow progress towards the grave : but 
the emotion is very transient, and the scene soon 
fades into forgetfulness ; but when I betake myself 
to the numbering over of my past funerals, when I 
contemplate some dreary blank left in my bosom 
by the removal of a cherished object, it will almost 
seem that all other griefs are common and poor — 
mine only deserving to be chronicled in those fleshly 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 149 

tables of the heart, which God has prepared for the 
reception of his own laws — the manifold tokens of 
his unchangeable and everlasting love. 

All this, or something resembling it, has doubtless 
been said or sung, on a topic, as old, nearly, as the 
globe which we inhabit. Nevertheless, I have re- 
peated it, in order to account for my peculiar taste 
in new-years' salutations. I love the old custom, 
and cannot dispense with it, among friends : but 
my special delight is to exchange greetings with 
some little flower that may have outlived the pre- 
fatory blasts of mid-winter, and lingered to welcome 
another year. In seasons of severity, when intense 
frost has cut down, or deep snow overlaid the tender 
blossoms, I am driven to my in-door collection ; 
but far better do I love to search the garden, the 
hedge-row, and the field ; if perchance some native 
production may reward my diligent scrutiny. 

There is one, not uncommon at this season ; the 
Christmas rose. It is the saddest, in aspect, of the 
numerous family that bear that distinguished name, 
but the scene where I first remember to have met 
with it was characterized by any thing rather than 
sadness. 

It was a new year's party of youthful guests, 
many being accompanied by their elder connec- 
tions, at the house of an opulent and most hospitable 
family, in my native place. The noble sirloin, with 
his attendant turkey, not then considered intrusive, 
even at three o'clock, having led the van of a most 



150 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

substantial dinner, a body of much lighter auxilia- 
ries brought up the rear. As a finale, after my 
plumb -pudding, I received a portion of sweet jelly : 
and with it one of the Christmas roses which, min- 
gled with sprigs of myrtle and geranium, had graced 
the epergne. I was then about nine years old, and 
have a distinct recollection of sitting, with my eyes 
cast down on the flower, — which I retained to the 
close of the feast, — while innumerable thoughts 
arose, forming a link hardly broken at this distant 
day, between my then habits and enjoyments, and 
that world of flowers of which a few fragments were 
scattered before me. 

I know that, when our glasses were replenished 
with orange wine, to drink a happy new-year all 
round, the Christmas rose which I held in my hand 
formed a portion of my new year's happiness, by 
no means inconsiderable : and strange is the vision 
that flits before my mind's eye, when under similar 
circumstances, I now meet one of that unpretending 
race. I can better bear to go back so far, than to 
let my thoughts rest half-way between that early 
period and the present. I cannot wish myself a 
child again, even in my saddest moments : for who 
that has trod so far on a thorny path would desire to 
retrace the whole road ? But the new year's salu- 
tations that ensued, when childhood had ripened 
into youth, and, yet more, those which gladdened 
seasons of longer experience — oh, it is hard to feel 
that they must never again be mine ! 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 151 

The happiest part of the happiest new year, was 
that when I could reiterate the warmest wishes of 
the season to one on whom I might look with the 
sweet retrospections, combined with recent fears and 
present security, so beautifully expressed in those 
simple lines, 

* We twa ha'e rin about the braes. 
And pu'd the gowans fine, 
' But we've wander'd rnonv a weary foot 
Sin' auld lang syne. 
"We twa ha*e paidle: V the burn 

Frae mornin's sun till dine. 
But seas between us braid lure roared 
Sin' auld lang syne. 1 

No : this world can afford us nothing, fully to oc- 
cupy the chasm that remains, after the removal of 
an object endeared by first and fondest associations. 
Some, I know, have not their warm affections fully 
drawn out until, beyond the circle of their home. 
they meet with one capable of attracting them, and 
no doubt, the feeling is then more intense, and ab- 
sorbing ; but as deep it cannot be. because it cannot 
carry its associations so far back, into early years : 
nor trace the happy tie entwined even amid the 
scenes and sensations of childhood, to which no hu- 
man being can avoid sometimes recurring with fond 
recollection. But. whatever may have been the 
duration of such endearing attachments, that chasm 
of which I speak can never be tilled up. It is as 
when a mould is delicately taken from a peculiar 
countenance: with which no other features will be 
found exactly to correspond. The many millions 



152 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

of earth's inhabitants may be numbered over in vain, 
to discover a face upon which that mould shall fit : 
resemblances, there are, and strong ones ; but a 
counterpart the world cannot furnish — the mould 
will remain, an unappropriated memento of what 
we can no more recal. It may multiply by thou- 
sands the lifeless images of what once was : but the 
reality is gone for ever. 

What then remains ? Something which is not in 
the world's gift. We have a better and more endur- 
ing substance, capable of so filling every vacancy, 
that we should have nothing to repine at, if we 
would avail ourselves of it. "A shadow that de- 
parteth," is legibly written on every created thing 
around us : this we know ! and is it not strange 
that, having seen the most precious of these shadowy 
possessions elude our eager hold, and vanish away, 
we should rather love to look about for something 
equally insecure, whereon to lavish our disappointed 
affections, than turn at once to that which, whether 
in time or in eternity, facleth not away ? It is 
the weightiest part of the curse that so presses 
our souls into the dust, inclining us to lade our- 
selves with thick clay, in the face of the acknow- 
ledged fact, that it must crumble and fall off. I 
task myself continually with the difficult work of 
applying this lesson, so easily learnt in words, — so 
hard to reduce to practice : but while I treasure up 
with jealous care the fragments of every broken tie, 
and would not relinquish one of them, nor forget 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 153 

how the bursting of it rent my inmost heart, I am 
ever ready to the unwise occupation of forming new 
ones, to be in like manner severed, and to plant an 
additional pang. It is partly a consciousness of this 
that sends me to the flowers for my new year's 
greeting : they are not individualized, like the loved 
ones of my own race. I can take a Christmas rose, 
and, in every point, identify it with the first that at- 
tracted my childish notice. It seems to be an actual 
relic of the scene so gay in lengthened distance : it 
has, I know not how, outlived the bloom of all, the 
mortal existence of many, whose laughing counte- 
nances shone around me that day. By being the 
representative of a whole assemblage, some of whom 
are now on their way rejoicing, together with me, 
that they have been led to seek a city which hath 
foundations, the sigh of regret is softened as I gaze 
on the flower, and I feel an acquiescence in the 
common lot of my species ; a thankfulness for mer- 
cies past ; a cheerful trust in the word of those good 
promises yet to be fulfilled, and a readiness to go 
forward, after marking the Eben-ezers that I have 
been constrained to set up at the close of every fleet- 
ing year. 

' But this is not a chapter on flowers — it is a chap- 
ter on new years, very barren of incident, and too 
vague to be classed with your floral biography.' 
Have patience, dear reader ; I will not leave you 
without singling one from the many cheerful assem- 
blages that the Christmas Rose has graced from time 



154 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

to time, before or since it attracted my especial 
notice. 

Even prior to the period alluded to, while I was 
yet but a very little girl, I had often been the fa- 
vourite playfellow of one who had a nearer claim 
than the tie of mere acquaintanceship. His story 
is touching ; and I will give it briefly. He was 
born in a distant country, and came among us to be 
educated : many years older than myself, I can but 
remember him as a tall youth, when I was a child : 
but many little recollections combine to make his 
image familiar to my mind's eye. Having completed 
his studies in England, he left our shores, highly 
accomplished, and returned to the bosom of a family 
whose pride he was. Not long after, he was unhap- 
pily led by the influence of some who knew how to 
work on his chivalric character, to accept a distin- 
guished rank in a wild romantic expedition, planned 
by some enthusiastic military men, to effect a land- 
ing, and to excite a revolution, in the South Amer- 
ican territories of Spain. 

The result was disastrous : the landing took place ; 
but in an action with the colonists, a great number 
of the invading party were killed, some saved them- 
selves by precipitate flight, and the remainder were 
made captive. Among the latter, was my old play- 
mate and kinsman ; and the intelligence soon reached 
his distracted parents, that their beloved son was 
condemned to labour for life, in the mines of Peru ! 

His father, who possessed high claims on the con- 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 155 

fidence and consideration of the British government, 
hastened to make known his afflictive case ; and 
letters were given to him from various members of 
the Royal family, and from distinguished official 
men, to the court of Spain. Thither sped the anxi- 
ous father ; and by persevering importunity, ob- 
tained, though with great difficulty, the precious 
boon — an order for his son's immediate release — 
with this he again crossed the Atlantic, and had the 
unspeakable delight of delivering the poor captive, 
and conducting him once more to the arms of a re- 
joicing mother, a fond circle of brothers and sisters, 
to whom he appeared as one alive from the dead. 
Very sweet is my recollection of the jubilee among 
us, when those glad tidings reached his English 
friends : and our joy was increased, when informed 
that he considered his happiness incomplete, until 
he should have received in person the congratula- 
tions of those by whom he had been so long regarded 
as a son and a brother. 

With this object in view, he repaired to one of the 
West Indian isles ; from whence a vessel was about 
to sail for our shores. She was very unfit, in the 
judgment of many, for a long voyage ; but our 
young friend's ardent character prevailed over pru- 
dential considerations — he would not brook delay. 
He sailed— and we received tidings of the day and 
hour when he left the port ; but other tidings never, 
never came, of the vessel or her freight ! 

Often have we sat round the fire-side of the vene- 



156 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

rable and venerated individual, who, with maternal 
fondness looked upon three generations of her nu- 
merous progeny : and while the tale of her darling 
grandson was again and again recounted, we have 
talked of pirates, and of shipwrecks on desolate 
places, whence after a long lapse of years, the ob- 
jects who were mourned as dead, have returned to 
overwhelm their sorrowing friends with unlooked- 
for joy. We have talked until a knock at the hall- 
door, or the sound of a man's voice from without, 
has sent the thrill of undefined expectation through 
many a bosom ; to be succeeded by the starting 
tear, and half- uttered whisper of, ' His poor mother ! 
what must she feel 1 ' It is true that the outline 
alone of this sad story is impressed on my mind ; 
but it is strongly engraven there : and from it I have 
drawn lessons of thankfulness under all my most 
trying afflictions. In every case, I had at least a 
melancholy certainty : I have not been left to en- 
dure the long torture of mocking hope — of that 
wild, obstinate clinging to bare and meagre possi- 
bility that the sorrow of my soul might be suddenly 
turned into unspeakable, worldly, joy. We do not 
half consider the measure of mercy that is given to 
sooth our bitterest grief. We do not, as we might, 
take a survey of what others have had to encounter 
when wormwood has been added to their gall. There 
are some who would barter all the comforts left in 
their lot, for that which may be our deepest grief — 
the sight of a quiet grave, where the heart's most 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 157 

cherished treasure peacefully moulders beneath. 
They could be resigned, if they assuredly knew that 
all was indeed over : but that cruel phantom of 
hope for ever flits before their eyes ; and the spirit 
cannot rest — cannot turn away from the pictures 
that imagination is constantly pourtraying, of what 
may be reserved of future discovery, and reunion 
here. In ordinary cases, the vacated seat is again 
occupied : and the heart can struggle into acquies- 
cence that so it should be : but alas for those, to 
whose sight a vacancy ever appears, which they 
cannot but feel may yet again be filled by the loved 
object to whom it was appropriated ! There is balm 
indeed, for the Christian thus circumstanced : his 
faith is put into a more trying furnace : and a 
higher exercise of it demanded : but as his day, so 
shall his strength be. God doth not willingly afflict ; 
this cross, and none other, was prepared for the in- 
dividual, with a purpose of mercy for which he shall 
here glorify God in the fires of tribulation, and here- 
after in the felicity of his eternal kingdom. Liv- 
ing or dead, the eye of the Father is upon all : and 
the sorrowful, the conditional prayer, with its heart- 
breaking clause, 6 if yet he liveth/ may be receiving 
an answer little understood by the tearful suppli- 
cant ; or, should the subject of it have indeed passed 
beyond this mortal scene, and thus be moved out of 
the reach of our intercession, such prayer may re- 
turn to the bosom that breathes it, with a blessing 
beyond his hopes. 



158 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

Over his providential dealings, the Lord sometimes 
draws a thick veil ; and upon its surface we discern 
only these words. " Trust in Him at all times." 
May He enable the afflicted soul to respond, — 
" Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." 




THE PURPLE CROCUS. 



Paso 169. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 



To those who admit — and who can deny it ? — 
that flowers are a special and most unmerited gift 
to brighten the path which man's transgressions 
have darkened with sadness, and strewn with 
thorns, it is a touching circumstance that, be the 
seasons what they may, there is no month in the 
twelve without its attendant blossoms. If the 
human eye possessed a microscopic power, what 
a spectacle of beauty would burst upon it, and that 
too in wintry time, among the family of mosses 
alone ! But such not being the extent of the visual 
organ entrusted to us, we are not left to go groping 
about with glasses. Enough is given to common 
ken to prompt a song of praise, " Wonderful are 
thy works, Lord God Almighty !" 

It is a peculiar feature in this part of those won- 
derful works, that, although we lack not tall shrubs, 
even trees, that win the upturned eye to explore 



160 THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

the abundance of their beautiful tints, still the far 
greater portion of our most valued flowers draw the 
gaze downwards ; by their lowly stature ; while their 
own faces, raised to heaven, set us the example of 
looking thitherward. It is remarkable that the 
blossoms of lofty plants are most frequently pendu- 
lous ; those of the dwarf family the reverse. The 
golden clusters of the beautiful laburnum, and the 
shining silver of the yet lovely acacia, how grace- 
fully they bend and fall, as though ashamed of 
being placed so high ; while the innocent daisy, 
made to be trampled on, and her neighbour, the 
spruce little butter-cup, lift up their broad bright 
eye, in unreserved freedom. Thus the great one of 
the earth, when touched by divine grace, rejoices to 
be brought down, and the brother of low degree can 
also rejoice in that he is exalted, into a greatness 
that the world knows not of. 

This is a dreary season ; bleak winds are abroad, 
and the frequent snow-drift oppresses every bough. 
The holly's bright berry peeps out here and there ; 
but for flowers I may search in vain among the 
branches. I must look lower, and there they are 
— the regiments of soldiers, as my childish fancy 
termed them, that fail not to start up, keeping their 
appointed ranks in resolute defiance of all the artil- 
lery of winter. Far less elegant than the snow- 
drop, the crocus yet possesses a sprightly grace 
peculiar to itself. The former seems to endure ad- 
versity ; the latter to laugh at it. I allude to the 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 161 

bright yellow species, shedding a mimic sunshine 
upon beds of snow : there are others of the family, 
more sober in aspect : looking tranquilly content in 
the spot where they have been placed ; and, under 
all attendant circumstances, placidly cheerful. They 
seem to say, 6 It is but for a little while : 

The storms of wintry time shall quickly pass ; 

and we will not murmur that we at present feel 
their severity.' 

The yellow crocus was my favourite in very early 
years : but a small portion of experience sufficed to 
transfer my preference to its purple brother ; and to 
it is attached a particular train of thought, now 
connecting in my mind its lowly station, and its 
quiet hue, with the memory of a humble, yet most 
vigorous and happy Christian, who, just as the 
earliest crocus was peeping forth in my garden, 
received his summons to depart and be with Christ. 

He was an aged man ; the inmate of an alms- 
house ; situated, happily for him, on the confines 
of a churchyard. When first I knew him, he was 
drawing spiritual nourishment from the ministra- 
tions of a pastor whom he most dearly loved ; and 
who seemed to have been commissioned to hold a 
temporary charge in that parish, for the purpose, 
among many others, of more brightly trimming the 
lamp of old B. At our frequent meetings in the 
spacious school- room, just by his cottage, how re- 
joicingly did the venerable believer listen to his 

M 



162 THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

pastor's exhortation — how devoutly did he fall down 
before the Lord, in fervent prayer — and what a pri- 
vilege was it reckoned, among the Christians near 
his usual seat, to .assist his trembling hands in turn- 
ing over the leaves of the hymn-book ; or to hold a 
candle near the page, assisting his dim sight ; while 
his low, but distinct accents swelled the song of 
praise ! Often had I the delight of thus assisting 
him : and never shall I lose the remembrance of his 
bending figure and striking countenance. There 
was a singularly intellectual character about the 
latter : his broad, full, lofty brow, and the fine ex- 
pansion of his bald head, added to a really pleasing 
cast of features, never failed to arrest an observant 
eye : and I have rarely noticed a manner so marked 
by perfect propriety, among those of his humble 
rank, who have been hailed as brethren beloved by 
men very much their superiors in worldly station. 
Old B. never aspired to rise above the level of a poor 
man in an alms-house ; nor did he ever sink below 
that of the conscious heir to an everlasting and 
glorious kingdom. 

After observing him at the prayer-meetings and 
the church, and ascertaining that my very favour- 
able impressions were rather below than above what 
his character would justify, I one day met him in a 
little rural lane, carrying in his blue handkerchief 
some portion, that had been given him from the 
larder of a richer person ; and, kindly saluting him 
by name, I asked, ' Are you travelling the safe and 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 163 

pleasant road, with the Lord Jesus Christ for com- 
pany ! ' He looked at me, the tremor of his frame 
increasing greatly from emotion, and quietly an- 
swered, c I hope I am, lady, I hope I am : and so 
are you ; ' and then, after a short pause, he rather 
abruptly resumed, 6 I have been thinking that we 
don't pray enough ; we should pray for all — espe- 
cially for the Lord's people. We should pray par- 
ticularly for those God loves ; don't you think so 1 ' 
I readily assented, and he went on. ' And for the 
wicked : there would not be so much wickedness in 
the world, if we prayed as we ought. God hears 
prayer : he hears my prayers ; and if I do not pray, 
I sin against him. But particularly for the Lord's 
people — for praying people/ — and with a respectful 
bow he went on, evidently pursuing the same train 
of thought, which had not been interrupted by my 
unexpected address. 

After this, we never met without a cordial greet- 
ing : and on one occasion I saw him, when return- 
ing from a scene to me most precious. A poor 
Romanist who had, under the power of the gospel 
declared in his own native Irish, renounced all his 
fearful errors, and become a simple believer in 
Christ, was soon afterwards called away to c see Him 
whom unseen he adored.' It was quite a relief to 
my full heart to descry old B. feebly advancing 
along my road : I flew to him, and told him the 
glad tidings, that the poor man had died most happy 
in his Saviour. He lifted his hands and eyes, in 
M 2 



164 THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

solemn fervour, ejaculating, c How gracious He is ! 
a soul is precious : ' and went on his way rejoicing, 
in broken phrases, with a joy so calm and beautiful 
that it redoubled the gladness of my heart. 

But a trial was in store for old B. which had this 
alleviation, that every Christian in the place largely 
participated in his sorrow. The Pastor so dear to 
him and to us was about to leave a sphere of labour 
where God had most signally blessed his work ; 
and I never, during the sad weeks that intervened 
between the announcement of this event and its 
occurrence, met old B., that he did not lay hold on 
my wrist to support him under excessive tremor, 
and weep, while he uttered his lamentations. The 
flock over whom our pastor had presided, presented 
him with an elegant and costly token of their grate- 
ful affection ; it was altogether spontaneous : and 
meant to be confined to the more affluent ; but there 
was no resisting the tears of the poor, as they prof- 
fered their shillings or sixpences ; and old B. was 
among the first to lay down his offering. It was 
beautiful to witness the strength of his attachment ; 
esteeming very highly in love for his work's sake 
the ambassador of Christ, who had delivered many 
a sweetly- encouraging message to his soul : yet it 
was the Lord's will to permit the afflictive loss, and 
he strove after submission. But never, from that 
period, did he meet me without grasping my arm, 
and sorrowfully adverting to our bereavement. 

But the summons came at last ; and after a few 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 165 

days of suffering, I was told that his end drew nigh. 
Wishing once more to receive his patriarchal bless- 
ing, I repaired to his alms-house, accompanied by 
the same valued pastor, — who had never relinquished 
the intercourse of Christian brotherhood with this 
endeared member of his former flock — and also by 
one whose hoary head, being found in the way of 
righteousness, wore a far brighter crown of glory 
than the coronet that told of his rank among the 
nobles of the land. Oh, how beautiful it was to see 
the peer and the pauper, both of very advanced age, 
looking together into an eternity that was to irra- 
diate both with light and joy ! One, sweetly sink- 
ing into the grave like a shock of corn fully ripe 
for the garner, and the other, with a heavier weight 
of years and an added weight of worldly wealth and 
honours to oppress him, alert, hale, vigorous, and 
running with patience and joy the race set before 
him ! As the snowy locks of one drooped over the 
humble form of his expiring brother, what could I 
compare him to, but the towering acacia, bending 
its flowering branches, more graceful in humility 
from their natural elevation ; and while the lowly 
man, from his poor but clean pillow, looked up to 
the countenance of his beloved pastor, catching 
every sound that issued from his lips, as a gracious 
message from the Lord his God— then turned his 
dim eyes to acknowledge the gentle words of encou- 
ragement added by the unknown, but noble and 
venerable stranger, who cheered him with the 



16() THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

breathings of his own spirit in the same delightful 
theme — what was old B. but the antitype of my 
purple crocus, looking forth from its unadorned 
resting-place through the cloudy dispensations of a 
winter's day, to catch the sunbeam from afar, and 
to prove to every beholder that, in spite of adverse 
seasons, or any combination of untoward circum- 
stances, God's tender mercies are over all his works. 
I received the old man's blessing and left his peace- 
ful abode, to ramble wide and long amid the chas- 
tened beauties of a shining winter's day. My thoughts 
were very sad : I knew that, notwithstanding the 
frequent benefactions of those around him, old B. 
had suffered much from poverty. His little room 
contained a box well stored with money, collected 
by him for the missionary work ; but his own pos- 
sessions were scanty indeed. He was not without 
claims of kindred, which, with his tender and lov- 
ing spirit, induced a course of strict self-denial, that 
he might minister to the temporal wants of others. 
Many a little gift, both of money and clothing, only 
came into his possession to be immediately transfer- 
red to those who occupied his anxious thoughts. 
Living in an alms-house, he was rich in alms-deeds. 
Himself supported by charity, his charitable works 
to others had no bounds but those of his limited 
means. I knew that he often shivered in the win- 
try blast, after having assisted to clothe those who 
could not help themselves : and I felt a pang, that 
was only to be soothed by stedfastly looking to the 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 167 

inheritance npon which I knew he was so soon to 
enter : had I known that he would be with his Lord 
in so few hours as actually did intervene. I should 
have experienced more unmingled joy. 

I could not but feel greatly depressed, in compar- 
ing my own opportunities, and the use made of 
them, with those of the aged pauper. I longed for 
a portion of his self-denying zeal, in every good 
work : and I realized, in a peculiar manner, the 
sanctifying power of the Holy Ghost, as manifested 
in the poor of this world, rich in faith, and heirs of 
the kingdom. In them it shines out with a lustre 
not to be mistaken — they are epistles of Christ, 
known and read of all men. " Blessed are ye, 
poor," was continually in my mind ; and happy it 
is, thought I, as I looked on my two companions, 
happy it is that the blessedness embraces the poor 
in spirit also — that, though not many, yet some rich, 
some wise, some noble are called, and made partak- 
ers of the like precious faith. External things never 
appeared to me so valueless, nor eternal things more 
important. Who would not inhabit the pauper's 
dwelling, subsist by labour, or on charity, through 
life, and owe at last a coffin and a grave to the hand 
of casual bounty, so that he might but ' read his 
title clear, to mansions in the skies 1 ' Who wou]d 
be trusted with wealth, or be surrounded by plea- 
surable allurements, calculated to steal away his 
heart from God ? Oh, it is a mighty power put 
forth by Omnipotence itself, that raises the base, and 



168 THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

brings down the lofty to the same safe level ! The 
work is marvellous, worthy to be had in daily and 
hourly remembrance, that takes away the stony 
heart out of our flesh, and gives us a heart of flesh. 
Behold a mixed multitude, in any given place, not set 
apart for uses decidedly sinful or exclusively spirit- 
ual, but where the denizens of the district are thrown 
together, and consider the awful line of demarcation 
which separates them into two companies, — how- 
ever in man's sight they are blended in one — dis- 
tinct as heaven and hell. A full acquaintance with 
the private history and experience of each, would 
show that the operations of sovereign grace are to- 
tally irrespective of every natural or incidental dis- 
tinction. It would prove beyond controversy, that 
those who are lost perish by their own wilful act ; 
while such as are saved escape the same fearful 
doom by an act of unsought mercy — as free and as 
unsearchable as that which brings the crocus from 
the frozen ground, and bids it bloom in vigorous life, 
amid the dark, cold world of leafless trees, and the 
torpor of suspended vegetation. 




THE HYACINTH. 



Page. ISO. 



CHAPTER XV. 



THE HYACINTH. 



Has any person ever seen a vulgar-looking flower ? 
It is customary, I know, to call weeds vulgar ; but 
that is an idle distinction, not admissible by any 
florist, to say nothing of botanists ; because some of 
the most exquisitely elegant of the race are trodden 
under our feet on the heaths, and plucked by chil- 
dren from the way-side hedge-row. Is the daisy 
vulgar *? No, that " wee, modest, crimson-tipped 
flower" has been sung into importance. Is the 
poppy ? Why, if the common single species, that 
waves its loose petals among our corn, were intro- 
duced as a rare exotic, crowds would press to exa- 
mine and to eulogize the depths of its splendid tint, 
with its singular mixture of jet black, so rare among 
the flowers. The dandelion, scornfully expelled 
from our gardens, is a miniature sun, with its radi- 
ating petals of bright gold : and thus through every 
family of every tribe may be traced the workings 
of a skill that cannot be ungraceful. 



170 THE HYACINTH. 

However, I willingly admit that some flowers are 
pre-eminent in elegance of structure, casting many 
others into comparative shade ; and if I prefer, on 
a very uncongenial day in February, to remain 
within doors, and solace myself with the small 
garden that my stand exhibits, and what I have 
forced into bloom before they could have reared 
their heads above the surface of the frozen ground, 
I have a proof before me, that, among the native 
productions of our soil (and I deal with no other in 
these pages,) there are some that, for beauty of form 
and colouring, and richness of perfume, may vie 
with the proudest offspring of warmer latitudes. 
Behold the glass that adorns my mantel-piece, and 
tell me where to look for a lovelier flowret than the 
tall, rich, double hyacinth that shoots from it in a 
living plume 1 I have watched its progress, from 
the first putting forth of those delicate suckers, 
whereby the watery nutriment is drawn up to the 
roots, until every white petal had unfolded, streaked 
with a warmer tint of rose-colour : and the whole 
flower stood arrayed in the majestic grace which 
now clothes it. 

There are few positions more favourable to pro- 
longed reverie than that which I rarely indulge in 
— a seat just opposite the fire, when a cloudy day 
is about to close, and prudence recommends a short 
season of perfect idleness, after an early dinner, to 
avoid the head -ache, which might, by too sudden a 
return to study, be induced : verifying the homely 



THE HYACINTH. 171 

saying, t more haste than good speed.' My morn- 
ing's reading, too, has been of a character that re- 
quires digestion : that paragon of memorialists, 
John Foxe, has spread his mighty folio to my gaze ; 
and in the fire that burns before me I can fancy the 
forms of heroic sufferers, chained to the stake, and 
mouldering away amid devouring flames. I loved 
John Foxe dearly, before I could well support one 
of his ponderous volumes ; and many a time my 
little heart has throbbed almost to bursting, when 
having deposited the book in a chair, and opened 
its venerable leaves, I leant upon the page, to pore 
over the narrative of some godly martyr. Especially 
did I love to read of Latimer and Ridley — those 
twins, born into the kingdom of glory together. At 
the age of seven years I made acquaintance with 
the beloved martyrologist ; and great cause I have 
to be thankful for the impressions then left upon 
my infant mind. Facts are stubborn things ; and 
I have found the record of those facts a valuable 
safeguard against attempts that were made to under- 
mine my protestantism, before I was sufficiently 
grounded in the faith of the gospel to oppose them 
with the invincible shield. 

6 But why dwell on such themes now ? The days 
of martyrdom have long since passed away. In 
England at least, we know nothing of the kind.' 

True, so far as regards the open violence that 
could take away a man's life, under the sanctions 
of civil and ecclesiastical law : but do you believe 



172 THE HYACINTH. 

that the spirit of popery is, in our day, one whit 
changed from what it was, when Smithfield kindled 
her faggots, to send the souls of God's people in 
fiery chariots to heaven ? No : it is the deep device 
of the papacy to wrap its thunders in a cloud that 
none can penetrate — watching for a season which by 
the infinite mercy of God, is yet retarded, when 
they may again be hurled, with blighting fury, 
upon the land that shall lie exposed to their bolts. 

I have been marvelling at the rapid change 
wrought since I placed that root in the glass ; a 
shapeless, unpromising thing, now arrayed in re- 
splendent loveliness, rewarding a thousand -fold the 
care bestowed upon its culture. I can find a pa- 
rallel most touchingly true : and I will narrate the 
story, with the strictest adherence to simple, un- 
adorned fact ; not disguising time or place. May 
the tale sink deep into the hearts of my readers ! 

It is pretty generally known that, in the year 
1830, through the blessing of God on the efforts of a 
few Christian friends, a chapel was opened at Seven 
Dials, in London, where the Liturgy of our Church 
is used, and the pure gospel is preached in the Irish 
language. Such an assault upon the enemy, in the 
very heart of one of his strongest holds, could not 
but lead to great excitement : persecution, carried 
to the utmost extent, short of murder, was the 
certain lot of those poor victims of popery who 
dared to inquire what they should do to be saved, 
and join the congregation of the zealous servant of 



THE HYACIXTH. 173 

God, who Lad left some comfortable preferment in 
his native land, to assume the office of a missionary 
among his wretched countrymen here. Many were, 
however, found to encounter the worst that man 
could do, rather than forego the word, the sweetness 
of which they had once been brought to taste : and 
to this hour a little flock is regularly assembling, 
who, having cast away the trammels of popish de- 
lusion, are able, even in the extremity of wretched- 
ness and want, to rejoice in Christ, as their only 
and all- sufficient Saviour. 

It was in the spring of 1831, that a Scripture- 
reader, attached to the Irish church and school, was 
visited one evening b}" a young countryman, who 
requested his assistance in penning a memorial or 
petition, by which he hoped to obtain some employ- 
ment. It appeared that he was a most extravagant 
and dissipated character, who had, through his own 
vicious conduct, forfeited every advantage that he 
acquired. Still, being ' a good Catholic/ all was right 
with him : and the sins for which, with sixpence, 
he could any day purchase absolution, never gave 
him a moment's concern. 

The Reader willingly wrote out his petition, for 
Doghery was a better scholar in his native Irish 
than in the English tongue ; and while he was so 
employed, the young man took up the book whicl 
the other had been reading — a book that I had giver 
him, containing some controversial tracts on the 
leading errors of Popery. 



174 THE HYACINTH. 

When the letter was completed, Doghery ex- 
claimed, ' This book must be false, for it contra- 
dicts my church : here is the presence of Christ in 
the sacrament of the mass denied. Why do you 
read such books ? ' 

* Because,' answered the other, ' they show me 
the errors of the church to which I also once be- 
longed.' 

A very animated discussion ensued, which lasted 
till after midnight : while Doghery contended for 
the orthodoxy of his church, with equal spirit and 
ingenuity. The next day he returned with an 
anxious countenance ; and on the Reader inquiring 
the fate of his petition, he replied, he did not come 
about that : but to renew their discourse concern- 
ing the book. ' For/ said he, 6 you deny the power 
of my church to forgive sins : and if that be the 
case I am in a bad way.' Again was the point 
brought to the test of Scripture : and Doghery went 
away, deeply impressed, to return on the following 
day more troubled than before, while he frankly 
acknowledged that he could no longer place any 
confidence in that which had always appeared to 
him an infallible guide to heaven. 

' What am I to do ? ' was his anxious inquiry. 
The Reader told him, that if he would accompany 
him to the Irish church, where service was per- 
formed on the Wednesday evening, he might hear 
something in his own tongue that should give him 
more light. 



THE HYACINTH. 175 

Unacquainted with the circumstance, the pastor 
addressed his little flock on the parable of the pro- 
digal son, expounding it as he proceeded. On 
arriving at the passage — " Put a ring on his finger, 
and shoes on his feet," he explained the latter by a 
reference to Eph. vi. " having your feet shod with 
the preparation of the gospel of peace," and dwelt 
on the difficulties that the Christian must surmount, 
or pass over, which required, at every step, such 
defence as Christ alone can furnish to the feet of 
his saints. At this period of the discourse, Doghery 
trembled exceedingly, and looked down at his feet. 
The Reader asked the reason of his emotion : ' Look,' 
he replied, c at my broken shoes — I could never 
travel a stony road in them ; my soul is in a worse 
condition than my shoes ; how then can I travel 
that difficult path to heaven 1 And see, my shoes 
are so far gone, that nobody can ever make them 
good for any thing now : my soul is worse — Oh, 
who shall mend that ! ' The Reader was so struck 
by this singular application of the subject to his 
own case, that he took him to the vestry, and in- 
troduced him to the zealous preacher, who spoke 
very impressively to him, and gave him a bible. 

On that very evening, the minister of the Irish 
church repeated this to me : and Doghery became 
the subject of our special prayers. 

From the time of receiving the bible, he studied 
it daily — hourly. A change the most striking came 
over his whole aspect and character. His memor- 



176 THE HYACINTH. 

able petition had succeeded, so that he got a place 
as porter in an apothecary's establishment : and he 
who never before could remain sober for two or 
three days, and was sure to lose every situation 
within a week, was now so temperate, so faithful, 
so diligent, so steady, that he won the perfect con- 
fidence of his employers. Still, being an out-door 
servant, and having a little motherless girl to sup- 
port, at nurse, he was unable to afford himself the 
means to remove from his wretched lodging to one 
less miserable. He occupied a corner in a densely- 
inhabited court, near Covent Garden, surrounded by 
the most bigotted of his unhappy countrymen, who 
made Doghery and his heretic bible the objects of 
their fiercest animosity. However, the Lord helped 
him to make a good confession, in meekness and 
love, even here : and after a proper season of proba- 
tion, Doghery was admitted a communicant at the 
Lord's table in the beloved Irish church. There 
the cup of blessing, which his crafty priests withheld 
from him, was put into his hand : and with what 
effect may be gathered from an incident that his 
dear pastor repeated to me. He went to visit a poor 
sick Irishman, in one of the dens of St. Giles', and 
found Doghery seated by his bedside, reading the 
word of God to him. Mr. B. said, c I rejoice to find 
you sensible of the preciousness of that sacred 
book.' Doghery replied, ' I hope I am, sir ; I feel 
much when I read the scriptures here : I feel much 
when you preach to rne in the church ; but when 



THF. HYACINTH. 177 

you gave me the bread of life, in the holy Sacra- 
ment, I felt — oh, then I did feel, indeed ! ' — • How 
did you feel, my poor fellow 1 ' He looked up, 
with eyes that sparkled brightly, and answered, 
with great energy, ' Sir, I felt that it was the mar- 
riage ceremony, which united my soul to my Saviour 
for ever.' 

On the Saturday following this, he went to his 
old friend the reader, and said, * I have many trials 
at home : they never allow me to sleep, for cursing 
me and blaspheming. They insist on my giving up 
my bible, or else they will have my blood. My 
blood they may have/ he added, with earnestness, 
• but this book none shall take from me. It is 
more precious than my life. 5 He then related how 
he was accustomed to answer their menaces and 
revilings, by reading or repeating to them the blessed 
truths by which he was made wise unto salvation. 
He told the reader, that he must go on the morrow 
to see his child, at Finchley common : and there- 
fore, could not attend church till the evening ; and 
he continued searching the scriptures with him until 
a very late hour, expressing the joy and peace he 
felt in believing. 

At seven o'clock the next morning he was obliged 
to go out, with medicines, to his master's patients : 
between nine and ten, he went to eat his breakfast 
in his comfortless home.- Here he was most fiercely 
assailed, on the two points that they constantly in- 
sisted on — to give up his bible, and to go to mass. 

H 



178 THE HYACINTH. 

Doghery refused : they attacked him, and struck 
him, but he only entreated their forbearance : he 
raised not his hand, except to ward off some of their 
blows ; in ten minutes he was pitched out into the 
street, a mangled corpse, his head and side both laid 
open by blows from a plasterer's shovel : one arm 
and several ribs broken ; and all the upper part of 
his body black with bruises. The poor Irishman 
had sealed with his blood the testimony of that 
truth which he held : he had joined the noble army 
of martyrs, and entered into the joy of his Lord. 

Many a tear have I shed over the leaves of Dog- 
hery's little bible, as I marked the print of his 
soiled fingers in those pages which he loved to pon- 
der upon. The Gospel and Epistles of St. John, 
and that of St. Paul to the Hebrews, bore evident 
traces of frequent and protracted study : there he 
had found encouragement to pursue his new and 
blessed path, until, through the blood of Christ, he 
had grace given him to shed his own. He was 
faithful unto death : and the Lord delayed not to 
give him a crown of life. 

It may be said, this was the act of a savage mob, 
and ought not to be charged upon the religion that 
they so ignorantly profess : but, a very short time 
afterwards, a clergyman connected with the friends 
who support the Irish chapel, was met by the regu- 
lar, the educated, the recognized Roman Catholic 
parish-priest of a populous district, in another part 
of London, who, adverting to the murder, coolly 



THE HYACINTH. 179 

said, there would he more of them, if the Irish preach- 
ing and scripture reading was not discontinued ; 
while placards were fixed opposite the chapel, me- 
nacing those who attended it with Doghery's fate. 

What shall we say to these things ? shall we per- 
mit our souls to he Minded, and our hearts hardened, 
against the dreadful evils of this unholy system ? 
It is the device of popery to keep her votaries in 
perfect subjection, by the same arts that she uses to 
lull their souls in the most profound repose of secure 
iniquity. By means of her priestly absolution, she 
affects to wipe off the old score of sins, committed 
since last the nominal penitent knelt at the confes- 
sional ; and sends him forth to commence a new 
arrear, with perfect assurance that by the same 
process that too shall be made to pass away. Thus 
is the conscience seared, and the sinner deluded : as 
was poor Doghery ; until, through the faithful tes- 
timony borne without reserve against his darling 
errors, he was led to* feel his dreadful peril, while 
walking along a bridge of straw, over a gulph of 
ascending flames. And this is the case with every 
member of the church of Home, high and low, rich 
and poor. Thus are we guilty concerning our bre- 
thren, if we fail to set before them the peril in which 
they stand. The wild fanatics who murdered Dog- 
hery, were less guilty than we, if we hold our peace, 
when opportunity is given to plead with a member 
of that anti-Christian church. They acted up to 
the spirit of the religion that they professed ; we do 

N2 



180 THE HYACINTH. 

not. They killed his body ; but in so doing sent 
his soul to glory : we study the ease of our own 
bodies, and strive to retain the mistaken good-will 
of our neighbours, at the fearful price of accele- 
rating their pace to everlasting destruction. I 
say accelerating ; for if we, calling ourselves Pro- 
testants, withhold the PROTEST, which by that 
very name, we are pledged to make, what must 
their inference be, but that we are not of the same 
mind with our fathers, who yielded their bodies to 
the flames, rather than even feign a tacit acquies- 
cence in the fearful delusions of others ? They see 
us banding for the zealous promotion of missionary 
labours, of which the avowed object is to put down 
the idolatry of heathen lands ; and can they believe 
that we really consider them idolaters, while, with 
every facility of daily intercourse, we speak not a 
warning word to save their souls ? 

Alas for the desolation of popery, that is rapidly 
spreading over our country ! We despise the little 
cloud, no larger than a man's hand, nor believe that 
ere long the heavens shall be black, and the earth 
deluged, with the abundance of that plague which 
we care not to arrest in its early progress. Far 
different is the view taken by the promoters of 
Rome's deadly apostacy : they know the value of 
every foot of land that their multiplying temples 
over-shadow, and of every deluded soul that they 
ensnare with the net which is now spread in almost 
all our English villages. The land, which is as the 



THE HYACINTH. 181 

garden of Eden before them, they will convert to a 
howling wilderness, if the Lord revive not in us 
somewhat of the spirit that dwelt in his confessors 
of old. 

How awful are the descriptions given in the word 
of God, of this predicted apostacy — how fearful the 
denunciations thundered forth on its upholders ! 
Can we read them, and not desire to become instru- 
mental in the work of delivering our fellow-sinners 
from such a snare % Never, in the annals of crea- 
tion, did a power so fierce, so pitiless, so sanguinary 
as that of popery, appear to deface the beauty of 
God's works : none stand exposed to visitations so 
tremendous as He has denounced against it. We 
must turn to the martyrology of the Piedmontese 
Valleys, and to our own glorious army, in the days 
of Mary, to nerve us for the perusal of those vivid 
descriptions in the book of Revelation, where the 
smoke of the eternal torment of Great Babylon, 
ascending to heaven, is said to call forth new songs 
of praise and triumph from the spirits in glory. 
We must explore the records of Spanish atrocity in 
the ne wly- discovered western hemisphere, and dive 
into the dungeons of the eastern inquisition ; we 
must open the blood-stained page of a Parisian St. 
Bartholomew, and then turn a stedfast eye to the 
green shores of poor Ireland, tracing to their true 
source the wretchedness, the recklessness, the crimes 
of her priest-ridden peasantry. We must consider 
how the Lord is insulted, His truth blasphemed, His 



182 THE HYACINTH. 

word anathematized, His great name prostituted to 
the upholding of that which he declares an abomi- 
nation, while His glory is given to another, and his 
praise to molten images. Yes, we must survey the 
curse in its height and depth, and length and 
breadth, in its various manifestations through 
twelve hundred years of violence and wrong, in 
order to impress our minds with the duty that we 
owe to our wretched fellow-creatures, yet lying 
under the condemnation of this idolatrous iniquity. 

It was predicted of our blessed Lord, that he should 
" grow up as a tender plant/' and as he was, so are 
his people in this world. To be born under a dis- 
pensation of pure gospel light, and unclouded truth : 
to sit every one under his own vine and his own fig- 
tree, with none to make us afraid — oh, we do not 
properly estimate the value of such distinguishing 
privileges. Our sons grow up like young plants 
indeed ; but it is out of a rich, a watered, a well- 
tempered soil, where morning sunbeams play, and 
evening dews bring gentle refreshment ; where the 
hand of culture directs their growth ; and the 
guarded fence repels every prowling foe. How dif- 
ferent is the case of him who, having been reared in 
the hot-bed of superstition, is taken thence, and re- 
ceived into the shelter of the true church of Christ, 
while the storms of vindictive rage howl around, 
longing to blight the early promise of his growth, 
and to visit him with swift destruction. 

I should sorrow to see my beautiful hyacinth 



THE HYACINTH. 183 

taken from its warm station, and placed abroad, on 
this chilly evening, to shrink before the biting frost, 
to bend beneath the blustering wind, and to break 
under a load of drifted snow. If the flower could 
reason, might it not well reproach me, under the 
circumstances, for hastening its birth into such a 
wintry world ? Yet, alas ! poor Doghery, and many 
a poor creature like him, could tell a tale of similar 
desertion, ending in the destruction of the body. 
The fault rests not with those who take compassion 
on the perishing victims of popery. We must often 
say with the apostle, " Silver and gold have I none," 
but, shall we not proceed to add, " such as I have, 
give I thee ; " and while we behold the immortal 
spirit lying helpless under the deadening influence 
of his paralyzing disease, are we to refrain from 
exclaiming, " In the name of Jesus of Nazareth, 
arise and walk," because the alms that depended on 
the continuance of his infirmity may then fail ; and 
we may be unable to provide him with an imme- 
diate subsistence % Even in a temporal visitation, 
this would be cruel policy ; how then can we dare 
to act upon it in spiritual cases ? No ; we must 
proclaim deliverance to the captives, though, from 
lack of service on the part of those who have the 
means, we thereby expose them to starvation, if 
they escape a more immediate and more violent end. 
It is certain, that when one of the poor of this 
world becomes so rich in faith as to be enabled to 
sacrifice all for Christ, by openly separating from 



184 THE HYACINTH. 

the communion of idolatrous Rome, the means of 
daily subsistence will fail, so long as he continues 
among the people whom his poverty precludes him 
from leaving. The great mass of Irish poor in St. 
Giles 5 and the other districts, are composed of brick- 
layers' labourers ; and it is a fact, that when one 
of the number forsakes his false religion, he cannot 
mount a scaffolding but at the imminent peril of 
his life ; for his comrades threaten to hurl him head- 
long if he comes among them. Thus he is driven 
from his daily labour ; and is, moreover, followed 
through the streets with yells and execrations, ac- 
companied, generally, with some actual violence. I 
speak from personal observation : I testify what I 
have seen from day to day ; and I cannot but ask, 
is the Protestantism of our favoured land fallen so 
low, that we cannot provide means of employment 
to those who, for Christ's sake and the gospel's, re- 
linquish the daily pittance that was wont to furnish 
them with a meal of potatoes ? When our adored 
Redeemer spoke the words of life to thousands of 
perishing souls, how sweetly did he express the 
tender feeling of their bodily infirmities wherewith 
he was touched — " I have compassion on the multi- 
tude if I send them away fasting, they will 

faint by the way." 

Well, Doghery hungers no more, neither thirsts 
any more : he has joined the glorious host of 
martyrs, and his blood has truly been a seed in 
our Irish church, emboldening many to come out 



THE HYACINTH. 185 

openly from the shambles of Great Babylon into 
the pastures of Christ's fold. Oh ! when shall ar- 
rive that predicted day of divine retribution, that 
will break " the hammer of the whole earth ! " 
When the Alvas and the Dominies, the Bonners, 
the Gardiners, with all the host of sanguinary ty- 
rants who have trafficked in the souls of men, shall 
receive at the Lord's hand the cup of retribution, 
and perish, with that desperate delusion, that off- 
spring of Satan, which the Holy Ghost has denounced 
as the mother of abominations — the woman drunk 
with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of 
the martyrs of Jesus ! This is not the language of 
uncharitableness — no : the farthest possible from 
true charity is that ungodly liberalism which will 
close its eyes to the plainest declarations of Holy 
Writ, and leave men's souls to perish, rather than 
shock their prejudices. God will not alter the 
thing that is gone out of his lips ; and unless we 
can expunge from the thirteenth to the twentieth 
chapter of Revelation, or close our eyes to the clear 
and indubitable exposition which history supplies, 
of its actual reference to the papacy, we stand guilty 
of wilful mutilation of God's word, while withhold- 
ing those awful appeals from our deluded fellow- 
creatures of the Romish persuasion, and neglecting 
to address to them the warning cry, "Come out of 
her, my people : be ye not partakers of her sins, 
that ye receive not of her plagues." 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THE HEARTS-EASE. 



There are some objects that all the world is agreed 
in admiring, or professing to admire. Those who 
have taste and feeling, experience exquisite delight 
in surveying such objects ; and people who have 
neither, would not expose their deficiency by ac- 
knowledging that these things have no charm for 
them. Thus, an April sky, with its flitting clouds 
and glancing sunbeams, and evanescent rainbows, is, 
by common consent, most lovely. Some, to be sure, 
there are, who consider all the enjoyment derivable 
from the contemplation, to be a very poor equivalent 
for the spoiling of a ribbon, or the splashing of a 
gown ; but they rarely venture to proclaim their 
dissent from the general agreement. This being the 
cSse, all descriptive, all sentimental writers, and 
indeed all who handle any other than the driest 
matter-of-fact subjects, are to be found tendering 
their quota of admiration, in every variety of style 




THE HEART'S-EASE. 



the heart's-ease. 187 

and phrase. To elicit any thing new, on such a 
hackneyed topic, is, perhaps impossible : but as I do 
not aim at originality — merely wishing to indulge 
in the pursuit of a few thoughts that form the rain- 
hows of my rather cloudy sky — I shall continue to 
think upon paper ; unshackled by any apprehension 
of the censure that is, doubtless, often provoked by 
my lucubrations — c How very common-place ! ' 

I sally forth into the garden, on a very unpro- 
mising morning. The whole concave is overcast 
with clouds : they hang low, portending a dark and 
cheerless day. I see not even a probability of rain, 
which might clear the expanse, and give us the de- 
sired prospect of an azure heaven beyond ; but 
there is every sign of continued gloom — clouds that 
appear disposed neither to pass on nor to fall, main- 
taining a position of sullen quiescence, the most dis- 
couraging ; while the little flowers beneath, look as 
grave and as cheerless as flowers can look, and the 
general effect on my mind is that of chilled and 
saddening feeling. Presently, there is a perceptible 
movement of the dull mass — a thinning of the 
cloud in some particular spot, as though it was 
drawn upwards, and comparative transparency en- 
sues. I watch, until an opening is effected, and a 
very little speck of clear blue sky becomes visible 
beyond the separating edges. A gladdening sight ; 
for then, I confidently anticipate, that, in another 
quarter, the same process will, ere long, afford a far- 
ther glimpse of what I desire to see. Another does 



188 the heart's-ease. 

appear, and another : the whole company of con- 
gregated vapours is breaking up, not borne along in 
a bod} 7 -, leaving all bright behind their course, but 
dispersing gradually, here and there, until the seve- 
ral patches of soft blue seem to enlarge, and combine 
to establish the reign of light over darkness. And, 
lo ! the sun breaks forth, the shadows flee away, 
the flowers look up in laughing gladness, and every 
little bird contributes his individual chirp of gratu- 
lating joy. 

What, on earth, have we to resemble this ? Some- 
thing, whereof I consider it a most beautiful type. 
I have seen families as destitute of gospel light, as 
closely wrapped in spiritual gloom, ay, and as con- 
tentedly immoveable in their darkness, as the dis- 
couraging morning that I have endeavoured to pour- 
tray. I have gone forth and looked upon them, as 
Ezekiel upon the dry bones in the valley, obliged to 
confess indeed that the Lord could work among 
them, but beholding no token that such was as yet 
his will. Then, shaming my unbelief, the light has 
shined upon a solitary individual, opening, as it 
were, one speck in the clouded sky ; and then I have 
looked, and longed, and confidently trusted, that 
farther manifestations would appear. Another of 
the household has yielded to divine influence ; per- 
chance a third ; and these, with united supplication, 
walked together as children of light, have been ena- 
bled to wage a powerful, though comparatively 
silent war, upon the remaining darkness. The work 



the heart's-ease. 189 

goes on ; reflected brightness shines upon the rest ; 
and at last the Lord puts on his glorious apparel, 
takes unto himself his great power, breaks forth in 
the dazzling brilliancy of acknowledged glory, and 
reigns over a household of willing conquests. 

How lovely is the sympathy displayed by the ex- 
panded world beneath, when this fair work is accom- 
plished in the brightening atmosphere above ! Not 
a shrub, not a blossom, or a leaf, but seems to rejoice, 
when the liberated day-beam shines upon it ; and 
gladness, yet more intelligibly expressed, fills the 
animal creation. It is not long since, looking around 
for some particular flower, whereon to mark the 
vivifying effects of these outbursting rays, I was 
struck to perceive on the bank beside me only one 
flower in bloom ; and that was a single solitary 
child of my prolific family, the Heart's-ease. 6 No,' 
thought I, as I turned reluctantly away, ' no, I must 
not bring you a third time into my chapters.' But 
when I stole another glance, and saw the little cheer- 
ful blossom uplifting its modest face to rejoice in 
the sunshine, I could not forego the almost inex- 
haustible source of pure delight afforded me in the 
retrospection. With such a train of thought in my 
mind, it seemed that none could so meetly claim the 
notice I was prepared to bestow : and that peculiar 
characteristic of D., which showed him altogether 
identified as it were, with those engaged in spiritual 
conflict, or crowned with spiritual victory, exactly 
answers to the picture that my imagination had 



190 THE HEARt's-EASE. 

drawn, of perfect sympathy with the effect produced 
by the day-beam on that cheerless sky — cheerless 
now no longer. 

It is, no doubt, a delicate and a difficult subject ; 
the manner in which the Lord works in families. 
Some, who are not strongly opposed to divine truth, 
while their hearts remain untouched by converting 
grace, do unquestionably build a treacherous hope 
for themselves, founded on the religion of others. 
They regard their pious connections in the light of 
mediators, calculating on their prayers to help them 
out in the last extremity ; and believing that, for 
the sake of such his faithful servants, God will have 
mercy on them also. I am often afraid, by saying 
too much on the blessedness of beholding the good 
leaven even partially introduced, to foster this peril- 
ous error : but so innumerable are the cases where 
I witness the rapid extension of divine knowledge, 
in families where but one has been first enlightened, 
that I cannot refrain from trying to speak words of 
cheer to those who are praying and watching for 
the souls of their dearest connexions. Our views 
of God's mercy, his power, and willingness to save, 
are most wretchedly, most insultingly low : and 
where that awful doctrine which represents him as 
having fore -ordained the condemnation of some 
souls, creeps in, to paralyze the mighty arm of ener- 
getic faith, and to cripple the strong pinion of soar- 
ing hope, we are tempted to do bitter wrong to the 
souls of our brethren, no less than to the faithful- 



THE HEARTVEASE. 191 

ness of our unchangeable God. Many an earnest 
and solemn discourse have I had with D. upon these 
points ; and I cannot forget the patient endurance, 
the affectionate anxiety, with which I have seen 
him for hours engaged in combating the delusions 
of one who had imbibed such notions. It gave him 
pain even to hear it urged that an actual decree had 
gone forth, willing from all eternity, the everlasting 
perdition of individuals hereafter to be born into 
the world. It grieved him, even to the suffusion of 
his eyes with tears, that such a charge should be 
brought against his God, whose tender mercies he 
well knew to be over all his works ; and whose own 
immutable word assured him that he willeth not the 
death of a sinner. He dearly loved, by bright dis- 
plays of inviting mercy, to set forth the freeness of 
pardoning grace, for the encouragement of such as 
are labouring to bring souls to God : and more es- 
pecially those of their own household. He believed 
what he spoke ; he acted on his belief ; and never 
did I witness a more sustained, persevering series of 
efforts, than I saw in him, on behalf of a young and 
endeared relation. That man, of his own free-will, 
could turn to God and repent and believe, he spared 
not to denounce, as most unscripturally false : that 
any mortal could achieve for another that mighty 
work, was equally far from his thought : but that 
God had barred the door of mercy against a single 
soul of all Adam's race, he knew to be irreconcile- 
able with the distinct declarations of Him who can- 



192 the heart's-ease. 

not lie. Hence he drew the sweetest encouragement 
for himself and others ; and hence would I gladly 
suggest a redoubling of prayerful exertion, on the 
part of those who may be faint, indeed, yet pursuing, 
in the cause of their unconverted friends. 

But there is a case, not un frequently occurring, 
where individuals who have themselves been brought 
to Christ, see their hope, as respects some beloved 
connexion, apparently cut off, by a stroke that re- 
moves its object, too suddenly to give time for that 
investigation which his doubtful state rendered par- 
ticularly desirable. Oh, how bitter is the tear that 
flows over the coffin of a darling friend, concerning 
whom there is, alas, but a ' peradventure ' to lay 
hold on ! Yet I have found such a visitation most 
profitable, in leading the mind to a review of past 
prayers, on behalf of that object, to an anxious 
scrutiny of answers to those prayers, which we, in 
our habitual disregard of ' the day of small things,' 
had before overlooked ; and to the exercise of keen 
self-condemnation, of deep and truly humbling 
penitence for the wanton neglect of many an ap- 
pointed means, the careless disregard of many pre- 
cious opportunities, which, if rightly used by us, 
might materially have helped forward the work. 
Such remorseful regret, however vain in the parti- 
cular case which is for ever beyond our reach, will 
lead, if it be indeed a godly sorrow, to the diligent 
use of similar advantages, in regard to those who 
remain. This was a favourite topic with D. ; whose 



the heart's-ease. 193 

office it appeared to extract wisdom and instruction 
from every past occurrence, as a guide in present 
difficulty, and a valuable store laid up for time to 
come. 

Never did I behold a more consistent, steady zeal, 
than he displayed for the extension of Christ's king- 
dom—first, in his own heart : then in his own fa- 
mily, among his immediate associates, and the poor 
who were brought within his reach. It seemed to 
be his maxim, that our missionary efforts, like the 
widening circles of disturbed waters, should extend 
with gradual evenness, not only of purpose, but of 
operation. ' Let us/ he would say, c evangelize, as 
far as we can, the space immediately surrounding 
us ; and there will be no lack of missionaries to 
work in foreign lands.' No one listened with smiles 
of brighter joy than D. to the recital of achieve- 
ments abroad, where the banner of the cross was 
borne into the dominions of paganism, and souls 
were won to his beloved Master. None with more 
prayerful fervency bade God-speed to the departing 
warriors who were about to wield their spiritual 
swords in distant climes : none rendered them higher 
honour, or more triumphantly dwelt on the glories 
of what he firmly believed to be the crown of genuine 
martyrdom, when they yielded their lives beneath 
the pressure of their sacred burden : but he depre- 
cated in himself, and detected in others, that excite- 
ment of feeling which too often takes the name of 
missionary zeal, when wrought upon by touching 
o 



104 THE HEARTS-EASE. 

descriptions of spiritual darkness and moral degra- 
dation among the dwellers in far-off lands, while 
carelessly passing the abodes of our own country- 
men, as completely prostrated beneath the power of 
Satan, as are the savages of foreign woods. I never 
beheld a person so anxious to strip religion of all 
encumbering romance ; and to bring its divine ener- 
gies into unfettered action in the streets of London. 
And why there particularly ? Because his calling 
was there : because in his daily walks from one 
office to another, he passed through lanes and alleys, 
Ci where Satan's seat is," and being possessed but of 
limited means as to time and money, he considered 
himself bound to use them where God had seen fit 
to open a field. 

The little Heart's -ease looks and breathes of blue 
skies, and verdant fields, and fragrance-fraught par- 
terres ; but to me it pourtrays a different scene, 
bringing before me the densely-peopled courts and 
passages of Gray's Inn Lane, — the nests of vice, 
and dens of misery that display the corruption of 
our great metropolitan cancer, St. Giles'. Oh, when 
will those cloudy regions become bright beneath the 
beam of gospel truth ! When shall we take care 
and provide for those of our own national house- 
hold — When shall the gorgeous gin-palace, glittering 
in our own streets, move us to pitying exertion, like 
the distant temple of Juggernaut pourtrayed in an 
album — or the thousands of suicidal, of infanticidal 
deeds, hourly perpetrated by the wretched females 



the heart's-ease. 195 

of our own neighbourhood, through the unrestrained 
use of intoxicating drugs, touch that chord of sym- 
pathy in the bosom of Christian ladies, which vi- 
brates to the tale of a Suttee, or the description of a 
Hindoo babe immolated by its heathen parents. 

April skies are lovely indeed : but on what spec- 
tacles do they look down ? — and He who dwelleth 
above those heavens, He beholds them too, and will 
require at our hands the blood of the souls of them 
who perish. Neither may we, if our lot, dear reader, 
be cast far from the scenes where D. worked while 
it was day to him, and where his dust now reposes, 
to cry, as it were, from the ground, and chide the 
flagging zeal of his survivors — neither may we put 
the lesson from us on the plea that no gin-palace 
rears its hateful front in our daily path. Satan has 
a seat in every village, a throne in every natural 
heart. Be it ours, as children of light, to war against 
the kingdom of darkness, wherever we behold its 
ensigns displayed ; and let our efforts go forth wide 
as the glorious command, " into all the world," 
" unto every creature," as our means may enable us 
— after doing this work at our own doors — not to 
leave the other undone. 

As in families, so in cities : as in cities, so in em- 
pires. When the day-spring begins to shine, it will 
brighten more and more unto the perfect day. When 
the tide commences its majestic approach, it will 
overflow, and pass on, and cover the whole earth 
with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord. You 
o 2 



196 the heart's-ease. 

cannot look up, and survey the clouds darkening 
over your head, you cannot look down, and see the 
little Heart's-ease smiling at your feet, without 
feeling conscious that a book of remembrance is 
before you. I would rather forego, to the last hour 
of my existence, the dear delights of my own sweet 
garden, than think that I wrote to minister a tran- 
sient gratification to your idle hours, and leave you 
unimpressed with the awful fact, that another por- 
tion of the very little span of time appointed you to 
work in, has passed away — eluded your grasp for 
ever, while you turned over these pages — leaving 
you only a solemn admonition, to rise up, and be 
doing, and redeem the moments that remain. 




THE RANUNCULUS. 



Page 210. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



THE RANUNCULUS. 



< You have been plundering from Hervey,' said a 
friend good-humouredly the other day, who traced, 
as he thought, a resemblance between these chap- 
ters and Hervey's Meditations, strong enough to 
warrant the charge. My reply was, simply and 
truly, that I never had read the book. Indeed, I 
remember having seen it in my father's possession, 
when a child : but had not perused it. However, 
I resolved to write no more on the subject, until I 
should have made myself acquainted with a pro- 
duction that every one is supposed to have read : 
and a rich treat it afforded me. Still I do not see 
that my poor little chapters have arrived within 
any degree of comparison with this beautiful work : 
nor do I detect a closer approximation of thought 
than what is founded on the language of that blessed 
book, by which Hervey interpreted the great volume 
of creation. It is there that Christ is set forth as the 



198 THE RANUNCULUS. 

Sun of Righteousness, leading every reflective mind 
to follow up the points of the brilliant type ; it is 
there that our attention is directed to the lilies of 
the field, with a special reference to their beautiful 
attire, as the providential allotment of God. There 
it is, that the flower is set forth, as a touching em- 
blem alike of man's goodliness and his decay : 
while the heavens are made to declare the glory of 
God, and every element to furnish some vivid illus- 
tration of His power and love. In fact, when two 
people come to investigate the same subject, under 
the same teacher, and with feelings just similar, 
even though they hold no previous communication 
one with another, still they can hardly do other- 
wise than fall occasionally into the same train of 
thought ; and, in the paucity of words to convey 
the multitude of ideas, to use expressions very 
similar. I never aspired to originality, because I 
should be unwilling to think that none had trodden 
the path of flowers with feelings as delicious as are 
mine, when revelling in the garden-sweets : but, as 
another friend to whom I repeated the remark of 
the former, told me she had heard it made by many, 
I take this method of assuring all my kind readers, 
upon my honest word, that I never read Hervey's 
work until this very day ; consequently I am not a 
plunderer. 

But, had not the good-humoured hint of my 
friend led me to examine Hervey, I should have 
committed myself, irretrievably, in the opinion of 



THE RANUNCULUS. 199 

all suspicious readers : for I had a tale in reserve, a 
most touching story, concerning one whom I must 
have identified with the Passion-flower ; as I have 
done so for years, owing to an incident where that 
flower led to singular results. I find that Hervey 
has expatiated upon it too largely, to leave me any 
thing to say : and in another instance, where the 
Sensitive-plant was the type, I read with surprise, 
almost consternation, what I had supposed to be 
^my own exclusive cogitations, as yet uncommitted 
to paper. This has straitened me a little, in my 
floral biography : but I am not daunted ; and the 
slight mortification arising from being denounced as 
a plagiarist, is most abundantly overpaid by the 
acquisition of so sweet a companion for my flower- 
garden, as I have discovered in Hervey. 

Gaily, indeed, is that spot now decked with the 
bright children of May : but I am inclined, before 
proceeding in the survey, to enlarge on an event 
which occurred when I was quite a little girl, and 
which left a lasting impression on my mind. I was 
straying in the garden, searching for some polyan- 
thus, and other dwarf- flowers, to form a small 
bouquet ; when, in the midst of my operations, I 
found myself suddenly attacked in a most extraor- 
dinary manner. The bed where I was groping for 
flowers had, from neglect, become much encumbered 
by weeds ; and in reaching at a fragrant Ranuncu- 
lus, I came in contact with a flourishing cluster of 
nettles. The result was, of course, very distressing : 



200 THE RANUNCULUS. 

my hand swelled, and became extremely painful, 
and in the irritation of the moment, my childish re- 
sentment prompted rne to lay hold on the unpro- 
voked aggressors, to tear them up, and fling them 
beyond the garden pales. This desire gave way, 
however, to a more prudential feeling, knowing, 
that there was no defence for an unarmed hand, 
against their thousand invisible stings. I therefore 
contented myself with determining to point them 
out to the gardener, and walked away, in quest of 
some cooling dock-leaves to soften the smart. 

Returning shortly after, I beheld a bee most 
busily plying her trade among the blossoms of simi- 
lar weeds ; and, perceiving that they evidently con- 
tained no small store of honey, I cautiously drew a 
flower from its cup, put it to my lips, and was de- 
lighted with the sweetness that rewarded my enter- 
prize. I made a feast, where I had been severely 
wounded ; and retired, congratulating myself on the 
exercise of that forbearance, which had issued in 
far more pleasing results than would have followed 
a hostile attack on the unequal foe. 

Now, I am not going to identify the nettles as in- 
dividuals ; but, as a class, how aptly do they typify 
too many who are scattered throughout the profess- 
ing church of Christ ! Mingled among the flowery 
shrubs, and fruitful blossoms, of the Lord's garden, 
they deceive the unsuspecting stranger, who, forget- 
ting that tares will grow with wheat, and weeds 
with flowers, fears no ill where the Lord is acknow- 



THE RANUNCULUS. 201 

ledged as rightful possessor of the soil. The out- 
stretched hand is met by a stab ; and drawn back 
in wondering incredulity that, from the fair green 
foliage, adorned with clustering flowers, and holding 
its place among the choicest of the parterre, such 
darts should have been projected, such venom have 
oozed forth. But the fact is beyond dispute, and 
the deed proclaims an alien unfit to mingle with the 
fragrant offspring of an enclosed garden. It seems 
almost a point of duty to draw the traitor forth, ex- 
posed to public reprobation, and banished from the 
sacred spot ; but the Lord hath spoken : " Avenge 
not yourselves," "Vengeance is mine ; I will repay." 
And faith commits her cause to that unerring hand, 
leaving the enemy unmolested, to seek a balsam for 
the smart— and singular it is, that where nettles 
abound, the spreading dock is never far off. The 
emissaries of Satan have permission to wound ; but 
the Healer is always nigh, and needs but to be sought 
in the hour of suffering. There is that which will 
soothe the throbbing anguish of a thousand stings ; 
and cool the fever of a spirit, where fiery darts have 
exhausted all their burning venom. 

Nor does it end here : whatever be the rod, the 
chastisement is ordered and overruled by a loving 
Father, that it may yield to his children who are 
exercised thereby, the peaceable fruit of righteous- 
ness. To overlook the rod as a mere instrument, in 
itself utterly contemptible, and from the permitted 
chastening to draw sweets, is a very delightful pri- 



202 THE RANUNCULUS. 

vilege. Thus it is that the wrath of man is made 
to praise the Lord, heyond whose permission it can- 
not extend — no, not to the fraction of a hair's breadth. 
The remainder of wrath he restrains ; where malice 
purposed to pour down an overwhelming torrent, to 
drown its devoted object, God suffers a few drops to 
fall, sufficient only to refresh and fertilize ; and 
then, with His mighty breath, drives off the swell- 
ing cloud, to vent its rage beyond the precincts of 
His garden. " Ye shall have tribulation ten days," is 
Jehovah's award, to those whom Satan marked out 
for utter destruction ; and surely these ten days 
should be days of rejoicing, to the souls who hear 
not only the rod, but Him who hath appointed it. 
How sweet are those lines ! 

Man may trouble and distress me, 

'Twill but drive me to thy breast ; 
Life with trials hard may press me, 

Heaven will give me sweeter rest. 

Dear Reader, have you ever yet come into contact 
with nettles, concealed among the rose-bushes % then 
probably, you can, through grace, bear testimony 
that my experience is no chimera. You have surely 
sought the healing leaf ; and if so, unquestionably 
you have obtained it. You have extracted the honey 
from your nettle, as Samson from his lion, and you 
may be well content to leave it where you found it, 
knowing that there shall be a gathering- out of all 
things that offend, without your putting yourself 
forward in the work of judgment. Rather bear in 



THE RANUNCULUS. 203 

mind the humbling truth, that such a nettle once 
were you ; stinging by your vile aggressions, the 
hand that was stretched out on the cross to save 
you : and if the mighty working of unlimited power 
has changed your nature, why despair of its opera- 
tion upon others ? Point out your enemy to the 
Lord, but as an object for converting and sanctify- 
ing grace, remembering that Saul of Tarsus was the 
first fruits of Stephen's dying prayer. 

I have mentioned the Ranunculus, as the prize in 
pursuit of which I made my first acquaintance with 
the stinging nettle. That flower has been a choice 
favourite from my early years. I remember accom- 
panying a party to a horticultural exhibition on a 
small scale, where a country gardener had made the 
most of his ground, for a display of flowers. He 
had retarded his hyacinths, and hastened his tulips, 
and disposed as they were, on distinct beds, in masses, 
the effect was splendid. I recollect that our con- 
noisseurs were learnedly expatiating on the rarity and 
consequent value, of certain magnificent tulips ; 
while amateurs were bending with delight over the 
hyacinth bed, inhaling its delicious fragrance, and 
reposing the eye on those exquisite hues, which in 
that species of flower, never lack a refreshing cool- 
ness. I was strongly tempted to enrol myself among 
the hyacinth devotees : but there was something in 
the neighbouring family of the Ranunculus' that 
struck my childish fancy above all the rest. There 
appeared a toy-like prettiness in the many- coloured 



204 THE RANUNCULUS. 

balls, that was not to be rivalled by any other : and 
when a light breeze suddenly swept over the gar- 
den, too faint to disturb the more substantial stems 
of their neighbours, my Ranunculus were all in 
motion, nodding their innocent heads, as would seem, 
at me and at each other, with such lively, infantine 
restlessness, that I was rivetted to the spot, indiffer- 
ent to any other attraction, while the party contin- 
ued in the garden. 

This was a point in my opening character that I 
cannot trace to any origin ; but it cleaves to me yet, 
and always will do so — a strange faculty of forming, 
as it were, acquaintance with inanimate objects, 
until a sympathetic feeling seemed to exist between 
us, and I found a more interesting companionship 
in a tree, a flower, or a rivulet, than among the 
greater number of my own species, I am now fully 
convinced that, out of this comparatively most in- 
nocent enjoyment, Satan wove a powerful snare for 
my after-life. Imagination took the rein, and car- 
ried me out, far beyond the boundaries of reality 
and sober thought. A world that I could people 
entirely after my own unfettered fancy, was doubly 
attractive when I began to experience the hollowness 
and instability of sublunary things. My heart was 
never cold ; neither, as regards my fellow-creatures, 
was it ever treacherous. A very little kindness, 
the mere semblance of love in others, drew forth an 
abundant return of unfeigned affection ; and this of 
course, exposed me, even in childhood, to frequent 



THE RANUNCULUS. 205 

disappointments, on the discovery that I was re- 
ceiving only base coin in exchange for my best 
gold. One would suppose that the affections of an 
immortal creature, repulsed on earth, would natur- 
ally rise with greater vigour heavenward ; — that 
when thus checked in their tendency to shoot, as it 
were, horizontally, they would assume the perpen- 
dicular, and rise towards God. But, alas ! corrupt 
nature has no desire after that which alone is wor- 
thy to be desired ; and I transferred ^every slighted 
affection to that ideal region which my own fancy 
had created, by combining the images of whatsoever 
was lovely and loveable in this dying world — thus 
using the gifts of my Creator as so many imple- 
ments wherewith to effect the robbery of what was 
doubly His — my own heart, and the faculties of 
mind and body, implanted by His hand, that they 
might yield him a reasonable increase. 

Thompson's beautiful Hymn on the Seasons, al- 
beit that it rises no higher than Deism, was the first 
thing that compelled me to see God in his works ; 
and even this greatly sobered my wild imagination ; 
but it was not an humbling truth, as I viewed it. 
Looking around upon a universe of mute worship- 
pers, taught to consider myself as one of those 

Chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 
At once the head, the heart, the tongue of all, 

without any knowledge of my own lost and exceed- 
ingly sinful state, any consciousness of that guilty 
perversion of imparted powers, which sank me far 



206 THE RANUNCULUS. 

below the level of those things that implicitly follow 
the first law of their existence, even " the wind and 
storm fulfilling his word," what benefit could I de- 
rive in offering vain oblations of praise, from an 
unsanctified, unhumbled heart? But, blessed be 
God for Jesus Christ ! the gospel came, not to di- 
vorce me from the contemplation of what was so 
lovely and so soothing when viewed aright, but to 
render that contemplation profitable — to print a 
gentle rebuke on every page of the great book, 
wherein I used to read only the lessons of pride and 
slothful indulgence ; and to tell me that, while 
every inferior creature of God is filling its station, 
performing its office, and ministering to the accom- 
plishment of one vast end, I, who am bought with a 
mighty price, must not cumber the ground, in a life 
of unfruitful idleness and visionary speculations. 
I, too, must be doing ; and that as being well as- 
sured that my time is short at the longest, preca- 
rious in its best estate, and frail as the flower which 
bends before a zephyr's sigh. 

Thus the Ranunculus leads me back to a period 
now distant, and shewing me the long, the guilty 
waste of precious days and years, waves not its 
beautiful head in vain. From a fascinating toy it 
has become a serious monitor ; but even now I can- 
not look upon a cluster of those flowers without 
experiencing somewhat of the buoyancy of spirit 
that seems to dance within their variegated little 
world. It is my deliberate opinion that, whether in 



THE RANUNCULUS. 20? 

form or in colour, the full double Ranunculus may 
challenge any flower that blows ; while the remark- 
ably delicate fragrance, that scarcely breathes unless 
invited, from its rose-fashioned petals, is in beautiful 
keeping with the whole character of the elegant 
plant. 

It may readily be supposed that no person of or- 
dinary appearance, or of common mind, would bear 
a comparison with this favourite flower. I believe 
it was one of the very first that I linked to a living 
antitype — always excepting my own sweet May- 
blossom, the fondly-cherished emblem of what, 
among earthly things, is the most sacredly dear to 
my heart — but, in childhood I have delighted to 
lead, with careful hand, among my flower-beds, one 
whose fair head hung languidly down, and whose 
attenuated form appeared to tremble, if touched by 
a breeze that would wave the Ranunculus. I re- 
member her well — she was most lovely : and, to 
gratify her little companion, she would be as playful 
as she was sweet, The child of a fond father, the 
image of one in whom all his affection had centered ; 
whom he had watched over, while she slowly pined 
and withered under the blighting hand of consump- 
tion, and in whose grave was buried all that had 
sweetened his life, save only this fair girl, in whose 
transparent complexion, and in the glitter of her 
full blue eye, he read the presage of hovering decay. 
The blight that struck her mother down, had in- 
deed passed upon her ; and my first recollection of 



208 THE RANUNCULUS. 

her is what I have alluded to — my conducting her, 
in the cool of a soft summer evening, through the 
little mazy walks of my especial garden, pointing 
out to her notice, now the tint of a flower, now the 
corresponding hues of a glorious western sky ; and 
anon that exquisite object Hesperus, sparkling in a 
flood of liquified gold. I looked up in her sweet 
face, and the smile that beamed there spoke cheer 
to me ; yet 1 felt that she was like one of my with- 
ering Hanunculus, ready to sink before the next 
rude breath of air. 

At the window of our rural parlour, sat the fond 
parent of this fading blossom : and as I marked the 
watchful gaze of an eye suffused in tears, following 
every step of his child, I felt more than ever that 
something must be wrong ; and my heart grew sad, 
to think that a creature, as lovely as my flowers, 
should be equally transient in her bloom. Our 
abode was in a very open, yet retired spot ; and its 
air was considered very salubrious for the sinking 
Lauretta. Frequently did her father drive up to 
our gate in his poney-chaise ; and being himself too 
much afflicted, by some rheumatic complaint, to 
walk, he took his post at that pleasant window, 
fronting the western sky ; while I led his feeble 
charge to inhale the breath of flowers, and to bask 
in the slanting rays of an orb that was soon to set 
for ever, to her. She went to the tomb before that 
summer had shed its latest glow ; and her father 
survived her but a short time. Their forms soon 



THE RANUNCULUS. 209 

melted away in the undefined vagueness of days 
long since past ; but on a sweet evening, when the 
retiring sun-beams glance on a bed of Ranunculus, 
I often behold the vision of Lauretta and her father, 
surrounded by the scenes that memory will then 
call up, in all the vivid reality that makes the pre- 
sent appear as a dream. 

I know not — I have no means of knowing — whe- 
ther the path of that dying girl was lightened by 
the beams of a far brighter Sun than I could point 
out to her ; whether the bereavements of her wi- 
dowed father, even then, in anticipation, childless 
too, were blessed to his soul's peace, by leading him 
to seek the Lord, who hath both given and taken 
away. That cloud of doubt hangs over the greater 
number of those whose images people the haunts of 
my infancy : the Baal of worldliness appeared to 
reign supreme ; yet surely among them the Lord had 
reserved to himself a remnant, whose knees had not 
bowed to the idol, nor their mouth kissed him. In 
many respects there are shadows resting on the past, 
impervious to the anxious eye as those that veil the 
future ; but the present is our own ; and as we use 
it, so we are — flowers to grace the garden of our 
Lord, imparting to others of the fragrance of his 
gifts, and adorning the spot wherein he delights to 
dwell— or weeds, to offend the little ones of his 
flock ; intruders, whose desert is to be rooted out, 
and whose end is to be burned. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



THE GARDEN. 



Beautiful at all times, and always refreshing, 
there are seasons when the garden wears a counte- 
nance of enhanced beauty, and imparts to the spirit 
a refreshment more welcome than at others. Such is 
the case when, after a short period, perchance a day 
or two, passed in the crowded metropolis, we return 
to the bosom of domestic repose, and w r ander through 
the maze of flowers, all fresh and sparkling from 
the pure moisture of an untainted atmosphere. 
Balmy, indeed, are the breathings of my lovely 
companions after such an absence ; and most intel- 
ligible is the welcome that their smile bespeaks. At 
all times I feel it ; but now more truly than at 
other seasons ; for a short excursion to the mighty 
capital has filled my mind with images more touch- 
ingly tender than I can well bear to contemplate, 
save in the society of their beloved mementos of all 
that my heart has learnt to cherish, through a varied 




THE GARDEN 



THE GARDEN. 211 

and painful course. I could not afford to lose this 
picture-gallery : at least, I should need a large por- 
tion of all-sufficient grace, cheerfully to submit to 
that privation, to which multitudes of my fellow- 
creatures are subjected. The sense of sight is a 
blessing that we do not rightly appreciate ; and I 
am conscious of much guilty omission in that I do 
not oftener render thanks to God for such enjoy- 
ment. Is there no echo to this acknowledgment in 
the bosom of my reader ? 

I bless the Father of mercies for the delight that 
he has given me in the works of his hand ; and I 
desire to find in them an ever-active stimulus in 
the path of willing obedience. Shall I rebel when, 
from the majestic oak, that even now is putting 
forth his multitudinous leaves, each in its appointed 
place, down to the buttercup that holds forth its 
tiny receptacle, to catch the falling rain-drop, all 
are implicitly following His law, from the third 
day of creation, even to the present hour 1 Shall I 
move laggingly on, in my assigned course, like a 
fettered slave forced to his task- work, while each 
little blade of grass springs up with joyous elasti- 
city, even though my footstep again and again 
presses it down to earth ? No, there is a lesson to 
be learned here, and I will con it, so long as the 
Lord, by his aiding grace, enables me to study his 
will in his works, even as his word hath commanded 
me to do. 

But my picture-gallery — what has now endeared 
p 2 



212 THE GARDEN. 

it beyond its common value % I have been where 
every chord of my heart was compelled to vibrate, 
and every form and colour of by-gone scenes most 
vividly represented to my tearful gaze. I found 
myself in an assemblage, including many whose 
looks of love are still permitted to gladden me ; 
and, alas ! presenting many vacancies where others, 
most deeply endeared, had passed away — some to 
the world of spirits, and some into distance, almost 
as remote. The May-blossom, that in fond, annual 
commemoration of the day, I had hidden in my 
bosom, bore a thorn which I had not the heart to 
break off ; for why should I not feel, even bodily, 
the piercings of what had been to me a broken reed, 
so far as this world's comfort is concerned ? The 
very thorn of that withered May-flower was more 
precious to me than all the living garlands of the 
present spring. There are many who will ques- 
tion the truth of this ; but some there are, who, 
without knowing any thing of me or mine, will, 
from individual experience, acknowledge it to be 
unquestionable. 

The object of the meeting before me, was one in- 
expressibly dear to my heart — the promotion of 
poor Erin's spiritual good, through the divinely- 
appointed medium of her native tongue. I say 
divinely-appointed, for God has declared it to be so, 
not only in word, but by confirming signs and won- 
ders, which none might gainsay. 

Who that contemplates the day of Pentecost can 



THE GARDEN. 213 

deny this ! Could not the same Omnipotence have 
rendered one dialect intelligible to all hearers, at no 
greater expence of miraculous power, than was re- 
quired to pour at once the eloquence of more than 
fifty various languages from the lips of twelve un- 
lettered men 1 It was the Divine will that each 
should hear them speak in his oion tongue^ the won- 
derful works of God : and shall our own poor sister 
sit desolate upon her green mountains, excluded, 
through our iniquitous neglect, from sharing the 
privilege that was extended to the swarthy Egyp- 
tian, and the dweller of the distant desert — that is 
now carried out alike to the inhabitant of polar re- 
gions, and to the South-sea islander ; to the wild 
hunter in his western forest ; to the Brahmin, in his 
eastern fane, and which, in his own uncouth dia- 
lect, speaks words of peace in the Hottentot's kraal % 
It is a foul spot in our feasts of excursive charity, to 
have those of our own household sit famishing at 
the portal : it is a denying of the faith — it is an 
aggravation of something worse than infidelity. 
But, blessed be God! the odious stain is in the 
hands of the scourer : and fuller's soap will, ere 
long, whiten this xlefiled garment of ours. It must 
be so ; for the Lord puts such persuasive words into 
the mouths of those who plead for our poor sister, 
that many were, on that day, constrained to lay 
down for a while the telescopes so curiously pointed 
towards the remote corners of the globe, and shed a 
tear over the mourner, who had so long sate neg- 



214 THE GARDEN. 

lected at their feet. God puts such tears into his 
bottle : yet not by weeping shall we help Ireland, 
unless we join thereto the fervent supplication of 
interceding spirits : and when that is accomplished, 
we have done but the preliminary work. Our tears 
and prayers are to the Lord, that he would send 
help : he answers, " Who shall I send, or who will 
go for us ? " Here is the test : are we ready to 
reply, " Here am I, send me ? " Perhaps not lite- 
rally, for no miraculous powers are now put forth, 
to fit us for the task of speaking in other tongues ; 
and we cannot all become learners of a new dialect : 
but let it be remembered that there are hundreds, 
yea, thousands, competent to engage in the sacred 
labour, and under the greatest advantages that local 
knowledge and attachment can afford, awaiting 
only the means which you hold within your purse- 
strings, to set them at work. The fact is unques- 
tionable : and a most astounding fact it is, — two 
shillings will buy an Irish testament ; eight shil- 
lings, the whole word of God, in that language ; 
and three pounds eleven shillings and three pence, 
will afford a salary on which a native Irishman can 
be found, to spread its contents, for a year, amid 
the habitations of his darkened countrymen. And 
oh, how beautiful on the mountains of Erin are the 
feet of those who publish peace, where war — intes- 
tine war, goaded by bigotry — has for ages past de- 
filed the land with blood ! I look around me on 
the peaceable possessions of an English garden : I 



THE GARDEN. 215 

recal a long sojourn in the sister isle, yet more 
brilliantly clad in the profusion of vegetable beauty, 
and again does my heart bleed over a scene most 
unexpectedly placed before my mind's eye, in the 
very assemblage to which I have alluded. 

There stood forth one, who came to plead for his 
poor country ; and he told a simple tale of what his 
own eyes had seen, his own experience verified, 
within a short space of time. He spoke of a man- 
sion where peace had dwelt ! where the pastor of a 
parish had long abode, and from whence he was 
driven by the blood-thirsty rage of a multitude, 
whose menaces compelled him to flee for his life. 
He told of the wretched contrast that ensued — of 
the glebe-house transformed to a barrack — of peace- 
ful chambers garrisoned by armed men — of the 
bugle note echoing where, from a family altar, had 
ascended the quiet tones of prayer and praise. Tears 
from many eyes bore witness to the sympathy of 
his hearers ; but none flowed from a source so deep 
as mine. That pastor was my friend ; that glebe- 
house was the pleasant home where I learnt the 
meaning of those otherwise inexplicable words, 
Irish hospitality. In those light and airy chambers, 
I had, many a night, sank into pleasant repose ; 
awakened by the morning beam, to rove through a 
wilderness of the choicest sweets, and then to kneel 
amid the household band, uniting my devotions at 
that family altar. There was no fiction in it : noth- 
ing for imagination to fill up ; all was reality, deep- 



216 THE GARDEN. 

felt, agonizing truth ; and though, I bless my God, I 
do love Ireland, and mourn for her, and have tried to 
serve her, even from that very time, yet I never so 
loved, I never so grieved, I never so burned to spend 
and be spent for her, as when that appalling descrip- 
tion was given, of scenes where my bosom's warm- 
est affections had been drawn out, and where the 
victims of popish persecution were my friends, my 
endeared, my hospitable Christian friends ; and the 
wretched instruments of destruction were the smil- 
ing peasants, whose cabins I had visited, whose chil- 
dren I had fondled, and from whose scanty meal of 
potatoes I had often accepted the choicest morsel, 
rather than hurt their generous feelings, by declining 
that which they could ill afford to give. My poor, 
warm-hearted, impetuous, deluded Irish ! What 
can I do for them ? What, but pray and plead for 
their immortal souls, dragged into perdition by 
means of chains, that you, reader, might well assist 
to break. 

The dear young pastor who related this touching 
story, gave a singular instance of the efficacy of 
those means. He told of the funeral of a police- 
man, whose mangled remains he buried amid menac- 
ing thousands of those whose hands had shed his 
blood, or whose hearts applauded the deed. They 
pressed on the heretic minister, with thoughts of 
similar violence ; but the Lord put it into his heart 
to use his knowledge of the vernacular tongue for 
their benefit : he continued the beautiful service in 



THE GARDEN. 217 

Irish ; and the effect was wonderful. They listened, 
they joined in it ; and at the close, they opened a 
passage for him, with uncovered heads, pronouncing 
a blessing on him in the tongue that they loved : 
and such was the influence that its use had given 
him over them, that, when frankly declaring their 
purpose of not leaving a Protestant alive in the 
parish, they told him his blood would be the last 
that they -should shed ! 

I cannot forget the thrilling reality of all this : 
neither could I, nor would I, forget that he who so 
feelingly, so tenderly, interceded for his deluded 
countrymen, had, within a few short weeks, beheld 
the grey hairs of his own beloved father brought 
down in blood to the grave, by the murderous hands 
of such as he was pleading for. He alluded not to 
this : but surely the blessing of him who prayed 
for His murderers, could not but sanctify the effort 
made : and surely a portion of that blessing will 
accompany even my poor record of it, to reach the 
heart of some on behalf of Ireland's guilty Papists, 
and her wronged, her persecuted, her forgiving 
Christian Protestants. 

I am not going to select a flower, and an indivi- 
dual for this chapter. I take the whole garden for 
my type, and Ireland for my departed friend. Alas ! 
she lies among the dead : but the spirit of life will 
re-enter, and she shall cast off her grave-clothes, 
despite of Satan and of Rome. I remember many 
years ago, passing some hours in a garden, which 



218 THE GARDEN. 

might serve as the very personification of Ireland. 
It belonged to a noble mansion, the titled owner of 
which had not for years inhabited it. The dwelling 
was closed, but in no manner decayed ; and the 
garden was deserted, not destroyed. There were 
winding walks, bordered with exquisite shrubs ; but 
the latter had attained a growth that stretched their 
branches across the path ; and weeds of enormous 
magnitude seemed to compete, on equal terms, the 
possession of the soil. In one place, my foot was 
caught by the tangled meshes of a moss-rose-tree, 
straggling quite over the gravel walk, and actually 
throwing me down in my attempt to pass ; nor did 
I escape without scratched hands and a torn dress. 
In another, I had to rend my way, though reluct- 
antly, by destroying whole masses of honey-suckle : 
and such was the difficulty of proceeding, that only 
one of the party would accompany me in my deter- 
mined efforts to explore the whole scene. It must 
not be supposed that overgrown rose-trees, and ram- 
pant honey-suckles were the only obstacles we en- 
countered. Many a nettle thrust its aspiring shoots 
into our very faces : and not a few sturdy thistles 
poignarded our ancles. A more annoying, vexa- 
tious, perplexing task could hardly be imagined ; 
only that at every step, we were compelled to cry 
out, "If it were but weeded, and pruned, and 
dressed, what a paradise it would be ! " 

I well recollect, too, the unexpected termination 
of this strange ramble. We arrived at a spot where 



THE GARDEN. 219 

the luxuriant growth of all descriptions of garden 
trees, laburnum, lilac, arbutus, laurel, and an end- 
less etcetera, no longer shut out the sky from our 
view, but opened to us a little grassy knoll, sur- 
mounted by an ancient yew of beautiful form, 
round the trunk of which was the wreck of a rural 
seat. We ascended the gentle slope, and attempted 
to pass round the tree ; but ah, what a start did I 
give on accomplishing the half of my purpose ; be- 
yond that tree, not a leaf of vegetation was to be 
perceived, excepting the grass and hawthorn shoots 
that clad a precipitous descent, of a few yards, be- 
yond which lay a strip of bright yellow sand, and 
then the ocean, the grand, the glorious German 
ocean, stretching away to the horizon, in the deep 
blue of unbroken repose ; save where the thousands 
of little silvery billows gemmed into unspeakable 
beauty, by the slanting rays of the western sun, 
came rippling along the edge of the coast, and 
sported over the sands. The contrast was incon- 
ceivably fine : never did ocean appear so mighty, 
nor ' all the grand magnificence of heaven ■ so 
imposingly sublime, as when I had just emerged 
from that labyrinth of neglected flowers and per- 
mitted weeds. Yet it was all in keeping : sea and 
sky most beautifully harmonized with the wide 
range of tall green shrubs, on which I could look 
back, or rather down, from the eminence : and the 
many-tinted clouds of sunset appeared as the very 
pallet from whence the flowers had stolen their cor- 



'220 THE GARDEX. 

responding hues. I was then a wild young girl, 
and my feelings were kindled to the highest pitch 
of enthusiasm by the scene : but I little thought 
that a deserted garden on England's eastern coast, 
was in after years, to furnish a type for the lovely 
western isle, concerning which I, of course, knew 
less than I did of Peru or Kamtschatka. I say of 
course, because it seems to be a general rule among 
us, that young people should know no more of Ire- 
land than they can learn by committing to memory 
the names of its four provinces and thirty-two 
counties : and old people only what they can glean 
from the newspapers : in proof whereof I will just 
mention that, four years ago, wanting to refer to 
an authentic history of Ireland, I went to borrow it 
from the library of a first-rate military public in- 
stitution, which salaries a professor of history — 
there was none ! I then sent to all the private 
collections within ten miles, and some much far- 
ther, but no such book as a history of Ireland, was 
to be found in any of them. I applied to a quarter 
in London, where I was sure of success : — any other 
history was at my service ; but not a line of Irish 
history had they. Poor as I was, I could not en- 
dure the stigma to rest on all the English ; so I 
bought Leland, in three goodly volumes ; and I 
positively declare that, of all the English friends 
who have noticed it in my precious cabinet of Irish 
bog-yew, not one had read the book. Now, if this 
be not the devil's doing, to blind our eyes, and 



THE GARDEN. 221 

m our hearts against the claims of our dear 
brethren — whose is it I Yet there is a work I would 
rather see than Leland's in the possession of my 
friends. Christopher Anderson's Historical Sketches 
of the native Irish, is a gem such as six shillings 
will not often buy. 

I have rambled from my garden. from 

my point. Ireland is such a spot as I have faith- 
fully described : for what I have written is una- 
dorned fact. Ireland is a garden, where what was 
originally good, has run to rampant mischief, only 
bearing abundant token that it needs but to be 
pruned and trained, to become again most inno- 
cently lovely. Ireland is a garden, where what is 
ally bad. has. through our wicked neglect. 
taken root, and well nigh usurped the soil, to 
the extirpation of many a delicate plant, that was 
thrust out to make way for its noxious growth. 
Ireland is a garden, where lie who only lounges for 
his ami: seme:::, or dwells for his convenience, will 
be — ought to be — scratched, and stung, and tripped 
up. and bem auled : but where he who. with axe 
and pruning -hook, assails the bad root, and dresses 
the good tree, who gathers up, and binds together, 
and weeds, and plants, and waters, looking to God 
for the increase, may. and will, behold his share of 
the desert transformed into a blooming Eden — the 
wilderness into the garden of the Lord. Further- 
more, he shall find, when his work is ended, a rest- 
ing-place, where the ocean of eternity shall lie before 



222 THE GARDEN. 

him in all the unruffled majesty of bright repose, 
while the winds are held fast in the hollow of God's 
hand, and the sun shines forth, even the Sun of 
Righteousness, to beautify with celestial splendour 
the interminable prospect of delight. " Not of 
works," God forbid ! No, but of that grace which 
alone, in the face of Satan and all his hosts, can 
gird us to the mighty deed of hurling great Babylon 
from her usurped seat : and which does not choose 
and sanctify an instrument here, to be cast into the 
fire when the work is accomplished. 




THE JESSAMINE. 



Page 237. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



THE JESSAMINE. 



That dear little modest flower, the Jessamine, with 
its milk-white blossoms half hid in the masses of 
cool refreshing green, used to adorn the most limited 
spot, in the shape of a garden, that ever I was con- 
fined to, as a promenade. It was, in fact, merely a 
gravelled walk, raised to the height of a couple of 
steps above the level of the paved court, which 
formed the rear of some premises where I was an 
inmate. The further side, and the extremities of 
this walk, were bounded by an exceedingly high 
wall ; and nothing could have been more ruefully 
sombre, or more widely removed from any approach 
to the picturesque, had not the old wall possessed a 
mantle of Jessamine, the most luxuriant that I re- 
member ever to have seen. The slender branches 
had mounted nearly to its summit ; then, finding no 
farther artificial support, through neglect, which shall 
presently be accounted for, they bent downward, 
shooting out in unchecked profusion, until the whole 



224 THE JESSAMINE. 

space might with strict propriety be called a bower. 
The upper part of the wall was more gaudily at- 
tired, in all the variations of green moss, yellow 
and blue creepers, and the dark red of the wall- 
flower. Beyond these, nothing appeared but a 
strip of sky. At the foot of the rampart some thrifty 
hand had arranged a narrow plantation of balm, 
sage, parsley, and thyme, so close that the intro- 
duction of any other shrub was impossible : of 
course, the old wall possessed the sole claim to the 
designation of a flower-garden ; and, circumstanced 
as I then was, I learnt to be thankful for any me- 
dium that led my eye to the brighter world above ; 
for, in truth, all sublunary things were exceedingly 
dark around me. 

It was impossible, at least to me, to avoid identi- 
fying the Jessamine with her who owned that nar- 
row spot, and who was peacefully journeying on, to 
take up her last earthly abode in one still narrower. 
Disease had blanched her cheek to the whiteness of 
the flower, and bowed her frame like its declining 
branches ; wbile the nature of her malady forbade 
the continuance of her once favourite occupation of 
training and propping the Jessamine. Cancer, in 
its worst and most excruciating form, had seized 
upon her ; and, at the time whereof I speak, it had 
spread from the side to the arm, reducing her to a 
state of suffering not to be conceived but by those 
who have closely watched the progress of that deadly 
complaint, devouring its victim piecemeal. 



THE JESSAMINE. 225 

Often have I gone out from the presence of the 
dear sufferer, to meditate upon the amazing power 
of divine grace which she abundantly possessed ; a 
rich treasure, in an earthen vessel so deplorably 
marred as to make it doubly apparent that all the 
excellence of that power was of God. I found it 
hard, in an early stage of my Christian experience, 
to reconcile the acuteness of her bodily anguish with 
those promises of Holy Writ which describe the be- 
liever as possessed of all things — godliness as having 
the promise of this life, as well as that which is to 
come — and the Lord as withholding no good thing 
from them that walk uprightly. I could not com- 
prehend how such exquisite patience should be 
visited with tribulation so severe ; for I had still to 
learn, that the tribulation wrought the patience. 
Hundreds of times have I paced up and down that 
confined path, murmuring against the cross that 
my friend so cheerfully bore ; and questioning the 
love that so grievously afflicted her. Sometimes the 
dumb boy, then in the first steps of instruction, 
would come to me, increasing my perplexity by 
showing that the same thoughts occupied his mind. 
In his imperfect phraseology, he would again and 
again say, ' Poor Mrs. C. much hurt. What 1 God 
love Mrs. C. ? God hurt Mrs. C. What % ' The 
word — what ! interrogatively repeated, with an im- 
patient shake of the head, signified a desire for in- 
formation. In this case, I could only reply, ' Yes, 
God loves Mrs. C. Poor Mrs. C. soon go to heaven.' 
Q 



226 THE JESSAMINE. 

Jack, who realized heavenly things in a way that 
few of us attain to, was content with this assurance, 
under the expectation of her immediate removal to 
glory ; hut I knew that she had, probably, many a 
long month to linger yet ; and as weeks passed 
away, Jack would come out with his embarrassing 
'What? Mrs. C. very long pain. What ? God love 
Mrs. C. V 

I found her one day in her nice parlour, dressed, 
as usual, with exquisite neatness, her poor arm 
supported in a sling of white muslin, and her pale 
cheek wearing the sorrowful smile that rarely left 
it. ' Have you had a tolerable night, dear friend V 
I asked. She replied, ' I had no sleep at all ; the 
doctor dared not give me an anodyne, and the pain 
was so excessive, that I could not help weeping. 
However, a thought came into my mind that com- 
forted me. It occurred to me, that I might have 
been brought up a Socinian ; and oh, dear lady, how 
dreadful it would have been to acknowledge Jesus 
Christ as something less than God ! When I 
thought of the mercy that taught me from my early 
youth to confess Him as God ; and the sovereign 
grace that has more lately enabled me to see Him as 
my God, bearing my sins in his own body on the 
tree, oh, then my tears fell much faster ; but they 
were full of joy ; and I learnt the value of the pain 
that kept me awake to recal this mercy to mind, 
and to meditate on the great love of my Saviour.' 

While she said this, her tears again stole forth ; 



THE JESSAMINE. 227 

but her countenance wore an aspect so heavenly, 
that I soon betook myself to the Jessamine walk, 
to wonder why I had never thanked God for not 
allowing me to be born among Socinians. 

A whole year, I think, this blessed woman lin- 
gered in tortures indescribable ; and latterly she 
would not admit into her room an}^ but those who 
were obliged to enter it ; so great was the delicacy 
of her feelings for others. She, however, used to 
speak from her bed to those in an adjoining apart- 
ment, the door being placed ajar, and very sweet 
was her conversation. One day, after a week of 
dreadful agony, she asked her maid to lift her from 
her bed, to try if a change of position would bring 
any relief ; she was accordingly seated on a low 
chair ; and, laying her head on the girl's shoulder, 
in a very soft, but animated voice, she whispered, 

* Mary, Heaven ! ' and instantly departed 

thither. 

I placed some delicate Jessamine flowers in her 
coffin : and most delicious it was to gaze upon her 
placid countenance, with a vivid recollection of her 
bitter sufferings, and an equally vivid assurance of 
her present bliss. Never did the beautiful hymn, 
commencing, ' Ah, lovely appearance of death,' 
seem so appropriate, as when I repeated it beside 
her corpse ; never did the high wall of the dark 
little garden, studded with shining white stars, 
afford so sweet a meditation as on the close of that 
summer-eve. Three or four days after, Jack and I 
Q 2 



228 THE JESSAMINE, 

arose very early to see her remains committed to the 
ground, while the dew-drops were still upon the 
grass. His smile was triumphantly joyous, though 
tears stole down his cheeks, as he said, ' Yes ! God 
loves Mrs. C. Good Mrs. C. gone to heaven. Yes ! 
Jesus Christ loves Mrs. C 

I have frequently been led to consider the asser- 
tions of some Christians, that bodily suffering is not 
an evil : that, when in severe pain, they could de- 
sire still greater, as enabling them the more to glo- 
rify God ; and also that such inflictions are sent 
altogether as marks of distinguishing favour, not in 
punishment. I do not think that such was the view 
taken by my friend ; she appeared to regard the 
sufferings of her body as a chastisement, not joyous 
but grievous ; but being to her, through divine grace, 
made an exercise of faith, patience, and love, it 
yielded most peaceable and beautiful fruits. I have 
been startled, many a time, by the rash and pre- 
sumptuous complaints of those in prosperity, lament- 
ing that they had no cross laid upon them, and en- 
vying the lot of their afflicted friends ; as though 
tribulation and anguish were the determined portion 
of all God's children. I know that the apostle as- 
sures us we must through much tribulation enter 
the kingdom of heaven ; and that all who live godly 
in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution ; but I can- 
not see that it necessarily follows that we are to 
doubt our adoption, when the Lord, giving us libe- 
rally all things to enjoy, fills our hearts with food 



THE JESSAMINE. 229 

and gladness. Ease and prosperity are, in themselves, 
very trying to the Christian ; and he is apt enough, 
when so tried, finding his corruptions strong, and 
sin struggling for the dominion, to prescribe for 
himself a course of temporal calamities, as the only 
effectual remedy ; instead of applying for the sanc- 
tifying aid of the Holy Spirit, who taught Paul no 
less how to abound, than how to suffer need. I have 
often admired the levelling simplicity of that con- 
cise portion* of our beautiful litany, which bids us 
pray, — a In all time of our tribulation, in all time 
of our wealth, good Lord, deliver us." One state is 
not a whit more secure than the other ; we are just 
as prone to make a popish purgatory of our afflic- 
tions, as we are to make a fool's paradise of our 
joys ; and sinful as it is to repine under the chas- 
tening rod, it appears even more inexcusable to 
grumble at the profusion of our temporal mercies. 
On the other hand, unless in some very peculiar 
cases, it seems to me quite as unbecoming to make 
a boast of our calamities, as to glory in our worldly 
possessions : for what is it, in fact, but a covert 
vaunt of our patience and faith ? I have seen some 
dear sufferers, withering under the most excruciating- 
torments of acute disease, or pining in lengthened 
confinement to a sick-room, or weeping, in the bit- 
terness of their souls, a sudden bereavement, which 
has left them comparatively alone upon earth : — I 
have seen them compelled to listen, while others, in 
the full enjoyment of health and prosperity, lee- 



280 THE JESSAMINE. 

tured them upon the enviableness of their lot : and 
required of them songs of mirth in their heaviness ! 
God can, and does, give songs in the night of sorrow, 
heard by himself alone ; and undoubtedly, he also 
enables his people to rejoice, even outwardly, at the 
abundant consolations with which he out-numbers 
their light and momentary afflictions ; but I do not 
love to see a wounded spirit, lodged in a weak body, 
crammed, as it were, with the crude notions of others 
who know but theoretically what their friend is sen- 
sibly experiencing* 

I am very sure that Mrs. C, was one of the most 
heavenly-minded persons I ever met with. Her rank 
in life did not bring her into what is called polite 
society, except among those who recognized the tie 
of membership under one glorious Head. Her edu- 
cation had not been of a superior order : but alike 
in mind, manners and conversation, the indwelling 
Spirit shed a lustre around her, which commanded 
respect from every one. There was an humble dig- 
nity in her deportment, which could awe the most 
reckless into submission to her calm and mild rebuke : 
and her sympathizing pastors came to her less to 
impart than to receive consolation, encouragement, 
and spiritual profit ; while she, in the spirit of a 
little child, desired but to sit at their feet and learn. 
Now, I would sooner take the feelings of such a 
person for a rule whereby to judge, than the laboured 
conclusions of profound thinkers, on a point which, 
after all, they could but think upon : and I am sure 



THE JESSAMINE. 231 

that Mrs. C. regarded pain as a positive evil, the 
bitter and humiliating fruit of sin, judiciously in- 
flicted, to rebuke and chasten, and by no means to 
be gloried in as an especial privilege, even by God's 
children. I have seen the tears stand in her eyes, 
while her look expressed somewhat of Job's mourn- 
ful reproof to the injudicious friends who undertook 
to prove that her bodily torments were so many 
calls for exultation and delight : but, when left to 
draw her Own deductions from the Lord's dealings 
with her, as explained by his word, and applied by 
the Spirit, she would sweetly acknowledge, as in 
the instance of that sleepless night, how much of 
mercy her severest trials were made the means of 
conveying to her soul. Had recovery been possible, 
I make no doubt that she would gladly have used 
every means to throw off her dreadful malady ; and 
most touching was the fervency of her thankfulness 
to the Father of mercies, when a few hours of sleep 
had been permitted to refresh her wearied body. Yet 
she desired to depart, and to be with Christ, knowing 
it to be far better than a lengthened sojourn upon 
earth ; and since the Lord had appointed that linger- 
ing and agonizing disease, as her path to the grave, she 
was content. To say that, if left to her own choice, 
she would not have preferred a less torturing disease, 
would be more than I should feel justified in assert- 
ing ; but I am sure that she believed that to be best 
for her which the Lord had chosen ; and that she 
never desired it to be otherwise than as He willed it. 



232 THE JESSAMINE. 

The Jessamine, at all times and in all places, is 
lovely : but that on the antique wall, breathing fra- 
grance on my evening promenade, was certainly 
the richest and the sweetest that I ever met with. 
No flower can be more simply elegant in form, 
more untainted in the purity of its perfect white- 
ness, or more refreshingly odoriferous in its delicate 
scent. There is, besides, something in its utter in- 
ability to sustain itself, that farther illustrates the 
Christian character. The Jessamine will aspire and 
grow to a considerable height, but it must be upheld 
throughout, or it sinks downwards, and defiles in 
the dust of earth those beauties which were formed 
to expand towards heaven. Let but a single shoot 
break loose from its support, and you see it strag- 
gling far away, with an earthward tendency, the 
sport of every wind. Is not the type obvious ? I 
once remarked a straying branch of the Jessamine, 
crossed in its way by the shoot of a neighbouring 
ivy, and firmly fixed to the wall by the steady pro- 
gress of its more adhesive companion. Here, the 
strong bore the infirmities of the weak, by love 
serving another, and becoming a fellow-helper in 
the faith to a less stable believer. It was beautiful 
to see how, from this point, the Jessamine shot up- 
wards, bearing to a great height the fragrant blos- 
soms that would otherwise have been trampled 
under foot : and the inference was cheering too. I 
have often thought that I must write a chapter on 
the ivy, which is really the most patronizing of 



THE JESSAMINE. 233 

plants ; though like the patrons of this world, it 
sometimes destroys its protege. But to return to the 
Jessamine. It is long since I gazed upon the old 
wall of dear Mr. C's humble garden, and many an 
experimental lesson have I since been made to learn, 
of the necessity both for prop and pruning-knife, 
among the Lord's weak straggling plants. But 
there is something so sweet in the recollection of 
my lonely walks, where indeed there was scarcely 
room for two to pace the garden, that I rank the 
Jessamine, with its pointed leaves and starry flow- 
ers, among the most precious of my store ; and if 
ever I possess a cottage of my own, it shall clothe 
the walls, and peep into the casements, with its 
well-remembered story of patience, piety, and 
peace. 



CHAPTER XX. 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 



I have already mentioned that I was nearly de- 
terred from taking up two or three subjects, by 
finding that Hervey had left me nothing to say re- 
specting the particular flowers connected with them. 
I shall, however, venture to pursue the original 
plan, at least with regard to one of these, especially 
as I have very little to say of the type ; and a great 
deal of that to which T have attached it, as a 
memento. 

I never could look upon the passion-flower so 
enthusiastically as some do, nor find much gratifi- 
cation in following up the imaginary resemblance 
to that whence its name is derived : and, strange as 
it may appear, although peculiarly fond of graphic 
representations, I have rather an aversion, as well 
to those which assume to pourtray the awful scene 
of Calvary, as to the incongruous host of Madonnas 
and Holy Families ; which, from their utter dissi- 




THE PASSION-FLOWER. 



Page 819. 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 235 

milarity one to another, irresistibly impress my 
mind with the idea of gross fiction, and rather cloud 
than assist the mental perception of what is so sim- 
ply and sweetly set forth in the written word. Per- 
haps a consciousness of the idolatrous purpose to 
which such pictures have been perverted, may have 
contributed to produce this effect. 

The Passion-flower was not placed on my list of 
favourites, until I met with it — can my reader 
guess where ? — growing against the walls of a 
Roman Catholic chapel. It then became endeared 
to me indeed ; and holds, to this day, a high place 
among the most touching of my lovely remembran- 
cers. I was dwelling in Ireland, not far from a 
flourishing nunnery, which it was the fashion for 
strangers to visit : but I had never felt any inclina- 
tion so to do, until a friend mentioned to me that, 
among the children of the convent school, there w^as 
a deaf mute, whom they could by no means teach. 
My interest was excited ; and, as I knew some- 
thing of the mode of instructing such, I readily ac- 
companied my friend to the convent, to proffer my 
help. As we passed along, she laughingly remarked, 
* I did not think anything would have tempted you 
to visit such a place.' I replied, ' Where God is 
pleased to point out a path of duty, I care not in 
what direction it may lie. As a matter of idle curi- 
osity, you would not have prevailed on me to go 
there.' 

It was with some trepidation that I entered, for 



236 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

the first time, a building to which the light reading 
of former days had attached many romantic ideas ; 
while the better instruction of a later period had 
taught me to view it in its real character, as a 
strong-hold of superstition and self-righteous delu- 
sion. The nun, who had especially taken an inte- 
rest in the little dumb girl, was presently introduced 
to me ; and never did I behold a more engaging 
creature. Tall, graceful, and bearing about her the 
manners of polished society, her aspect was that of 
the most winning sw T eetness, the most unaffected 
humility : and, by a very short process, I convinced 
her that every difficulty might be overcome, and 
the child instructed to spell and write ; the spark- 
ling animation of her looks, the eager delight with 
which she listened to my directions, and the fer- 
vency of her eloquent thanks, while, with glistening 
eyes she caressed the child w T hose welfare she was 
planning, all attracted me irresistibly. I do not 
know how far the picturesque effect of her habit, 
which I never before had seen — the loose folds of a 
long black robe gathered into a broad belt, with its 
depending rosary, and the graceful veil, which, fall- 
ing back from her beautiful brow, nearly swept the 
ground — might tend to deepen the impression ; but 
certainly I believed her to be, without exception, 
the most fascinating creature I had ever seen : and 
when she asked me to walk around the garden with 
her, I readily agreed, glad of any excuse to prolong 
the interview. 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 237 

She showed me her plants, and brought me to 
the entrance of a building, which I supposed might 
be a school-house, where a handsome flight of stairs 
led to two large folding-doors. These she pushed 
open, and I entered : but to my real dismay, I 
found myself opposite a splendid altar, profusely 
decorated with images, covered with gilding, and 
variously ornamented : above all, was elevated the 
crucifix ; and, on turning to look for my companion, 
I saw her nearly prostrate in the door-way, her 
arms crossed on her bosom, and her head almost 
touching the ground, in profound adoration of that 
idolatrous image. The impulse of my feelings was 
to make a precipitate retreat ; but the nun arose, 
and taking my arm, led me onwards. The chapel 
was very magnificent, but 1 shrunk from the con- 
templation, and confined my remarks to the beau- 
tiful prospect, from its window, of the garden be- 
neath ; and hastened our return. The nun retreated 
slowly backwards with many genuflexions ; and I 
almost ran out, rejoicing when the richly carved 
doors once more closed upon a scene so indescribably 
painful to me. 

My gentle conductress redoubled her attentions 
to cheer me ; for the sudden depression of my spirits 
could not but be visible to her : and as we left the 
building, she gathered a Passion-flower from a lux- 
uriant plant, that mantled its walls, presenting it 
with a graceful expression of her gratitude, and 
saying it w r as in itself a poor token, but rich in the 



238 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

sacred resemblance which it bore to what we both 
held most holy. 

I took an affectionate leave of her : and on show- 
ing the flower to a friend, with an account of its 

fair donor, she replied, ' Poor E ! It could be 

no other, for she is all that you describe, and there 
is not one like her in the place.' She then pro- 
ceeded to tell me, that my nun was a young lady, 
educated in the Protestant faith ; but led to aposta- 
tize, under strange circumstances. What these were, 
she could not inform me ; but several years after, I 
learnt her story. It was briefly this : her father, a 
Romanist, had married a Protestant, with the cus- 
tomary iniquitous agreement, that the sons should 
be brought up in his religion— the daughters in 
hers. Daughters only were born, and they were 
educated in the Protestant faith ; but on their 
father's death, a number of priests assembled, to 
perform offices for the departed soul, during the 
time that the corpse lay in the house ; and so w^ell 
did they improve their opportunity, that the w T idow 
and all her daughters renounced Protestantism 
shortly after the funeral, with the exception 
of E- . 

To overcome her conscientious repugnance, the 
most nefarious means were resorted to ; a pretended 
miracle, performed by some relic, failed to convert, 
though it staggered her ; and they then had recourse 
to one of the foul stratagems, so common in gaining 
proselytes from among the young and imaginative. 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 239 

They contrived that, in the dead of night, a figure 
resembling her deceased father, of whom she was 
very fond, should appear to her, stating that he had 
obtained permission to re-visit the earth for the 
sacred purpose of solemnly assuring her that the 
faith in which he died was the only passport to 
heaven. This succeeded — she never recovered from 
the shock ; but she renounced her religion, and took 
the veil. 

Had I known this at the time, I cannot say to 
what lengths my indignation might have carried 
me : but the bare fact of her having apostatized was 
sufficient to rouse my zeal. I soon repeated my 
visit ; and faithfully told her how very far I was 
from agreeing in her views ; while the good nuns, 
on their part, had, as I found, already engaged the 
help of a seminary of Jesuits, not far off, to prose- 
lytize me ; and poor E. was permitted to follow her 
affectionate inclination for my society, under the 
charitable hope that she might save my soul. I 
look back with emotions of trembling thankfulness 
to that time : for I was very young indeed in the 
faith, and totally ignorant of controversy. I knew 
that popery was idolatry ; and I knew that idolatry 
was a damnable sin : but beyond this, I had not 
examined the subject. The mode pursued with me 
was to extort a promise that I would carefully study 
whatever books the nun should lend me ; and I 
gave it, on condition that I might write out, and 
that she would read, my opinions on them. A par- 



240 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

eel was presently sent, selected by the Jesuits ; and 
I sat down to examine one of the most specious and 
dangerous works ever penned ; — Milner's ' End of 
Controversy. 5 I adhered to my engagement, and 
thanks be to God for his unspeakable mercy in 
guarding me as he did ! I could not unravel the 
artful web of deep and diabolical sophistry : but I 
saw and felt that it was essentially opposed to the 
truth of Scripture. I wept over the book, in grief 
and perplexity, but the Lord led me to pray ; and 
then, as a bright beam breaking forth, I saw the 
mystery of iniquity in all its deceivableness of un- 
righteousness. Prayer had cut the knot which 
reason could not disentangle, and I was enabled to 
set forth the truth, in a letter to the poor nun, so 
as to exhibit the contrasting error in a forcible point 
of view. Other books were sent and read, and com- 
mented on ; and the Lord overruled my perilous 
course of study to bringing me acquainted with the 
depths of this fearful delusion ; but, at length, the 
dear nun, who had been carefully guarded from any 
private interviews with me, after they commenced 
operations, managed to let me know, in writing, 
that she was not allowed to see a line of my com- 
ments on the books : all being committed, by her 
superior, to their spiritual advisers. She justified 
this proceeding, it is true ; but I have reason to 
think it produced a strong effect on her naturally 
ingenuous and honourable mind. 

Many a time did we try to see each other alone : 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 241 

and so anxious was I, that I once asked her to go to 
the chapel with me, and talk there : hut an old 
nun was beforehand with us, and was seated in a 
stall, conning her hook when we entered. E. glanced 
towards her, made a sign to me, and proceeded to 
talk of gardening. Shortly after this, they resolved 
to try what effect an imposing ceremony would have 
on me. I had, of course, refused to he present at 
the celebration of mass : but now two nuns w T ere to 
profess, and take the veil ; and so resolved they 
were to have me, that not only were two front seats 
reserved, but the whole service was fairly written 
out by the hand of E., with a full explanation of 
the ceremonies, and sent to me with tickets for my 
mother and myself : while all that affection could 
dictate, or flattery prompt, or animated description 
pourtray to excite curiosity, was said in the accom- 
panying letter. I felt grieved to appear ungrateful 
for such kindness ; I gave them credit for the most 
obliging intentions, and perhaps, for a moment, I 
almost wished to overcome my scruples, on so inte- 
resting an occasion : but in proportion as I became 
acquainted with the fearful character of a religion 
clearly opposed to the gospel of Christ, and con- 
vinced of the rank idolatry perpetrated in its stated 
devotions, I felt the wickedness, the ingratitude, the 
dishonesty of sanctioning in anyway whatever, 
those grievous insults offered to my redeeming God. 
1 felt that every Protestant who complacently looks 
on, becomes a participator in those rites ; and I 



242 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

really dared not to go into a place where I had no 
warrant whatever for believing that God would go 
with me, under the presumptuous expectation that 
He would wait for me at the door, again to enter 
into what he had deigned to make His Temple, 
after its wanton and un-called-for agreement with 
idols. 

Accordingly I wrote as delicate and grateful a 
refusal as I could : and my heart danced so lightly 
in my bosom after it, that I trust there is no danger 
of my ever trying what sort of sensation a contrary 
line of conduct would produce. 

My poor nun, meanwhile, was very rapidly sink- 
ing : her health had never been good, from the 
period of her apostacy, and she was now, at least so 
I was told, confined to her apartment. I made 
many visits to the convent, vainly desiring to see 
her ; until, very shortly before I left the neighbour- 
hood, I called, rather as an act of civility than with 
any hope of finding poor E. ; but while sitting in 
the parlour, I was startled by her bursting into the 
room, so changed in appearance that I scarcely re- 
cognized her : and in great agitation. She sat down 
by me, and throwing her arm round my neck said, 
C I was resolved to see you once more.' Before an- 
other word could be spoken, three elderly nuns en- 
tered ; and with looks that expressed both alarm 
and anger, actually forced her away, one of them 

saying, that Sister was not w T ell enough to be 

spoken to, and ought not to have quitted her room. 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 243 

The impression left on my mind by this strange in- 
terview was painful in one sense — in another joy- 
ous. That the interesting nun was under actual 
constraint, and severely dealt with, I could not 
doubt : that her mind was awakened to the fearful 
peril of her apostate state, I had strong reason to 
believe : and well I knew that if the Lord was 
working, none could let it. Often and bitterly have 
I reproached myself, that I did not more boldly and 
more unequivocally, during our first interviews, 
bear a distinct testimony against her dreadful delu- 
sion ; but I relied on her performance of the pro- 
mise, which she certainly intended to fulfil, of read- 
ing my remarks on the books that were lent to me. 
As it was, a consciousness of having failed in using 
the means, threw me in deeper humility at the foot- 
stool of the Lord, in fervent intercession for my 
friend. I continued thus to pray, for about a year; 
and was much struck when, nearly four years after- 
wards, I learnt that her death had taken place at 
the end of that time : and, from the same source, I 
also gleaned the particulars already related, respect- 
ing the means of her perversion from the truth — or 
rather from nominal protestantism, for she was not 
then in any degree spiritually enlightened — and I 
rejoiced in the sweet hope, that in the struggle so 
apparent at our last meeting, and in which she pro- 
bably lost her life, she had overcome by the blood 
of the Lamb ; renouncing the idolatrous faith into 
which she had been so foully entrapped. The 

R2 



244 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

secrets of her dying chamber, none can tell. Many 
a recantation openly made, is no where registered 
but in heaven, and in the dark bosoms of those who 
suppress the tale. Beloved E. ! I cannot look upon 
the Passion- flower, spreading wide upon the garden 
wall, or climbing the trellis before me, but I think 
I see the soft white hand of my pensive nun reach- 
ing among its branches, and behold her graceful 
figure, with its bend of unaffected humility, as she 
gave me the memento ; her eloquent eyes bespeak- 
ing more than either action or words could express. 

I remember, also, the disgust with which I once 
witnessed the grossly familiar manners of some 
bulky priests, who came to the door of the room un- 
aware of my being in it — manners evidently most 
unpleasing to E., who, nevertheless, was constrained 
to wear an aspect of submission, when her hand was 
warmly seized by those spiritual pastors. I can 
likewise remember, that the countenance of the 
foremost became most portentously overcast, when 
his eye fell on me ; and that it was the last time of 
my being permitted to converse freely with the 
nun. In those days the theological treasures of 
Dens had not been communicated to the laity ; but 
their recent disclosure has furnished me with a key 
to many puzzling recollections. 

Oh that I could so speak as to reach the hearts 
and consciences of those parents who, while profess- 
ing the Protestant faith, can be so awfully blinded 
to their sacred obligations, as to trust their children 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 245 

within the blighting atmosphere of Popish lands, 
and Popish seminaries ! They know not, because 
they will not investigate, the perils of such a situa- 
tion : the vain and hollow acquisition of accomplish- 
ments, which, when gained, only prove so many 
ties to bind those youthful spirits more fast to an 
ungodly world, becomes, through Satan's devices, 
such a bait to them, that even the life of the soul is 
overlooked in the computation, and heaven itself 
cannot outweigh the importance of artificial man- 
ners, and the fluent pronunciation of a foreign 
tongue. The direst curse of old Babel seems to be 
reserved for this generation, delivering over our 
young men and maidens to the fatal wiles of modern 
Babylon. The division of languages thus leads to 
dividing many a soul from its God ; and this indul- 
gence of the "pride of life," this fulfilling of "the 
desires of the mind," will furnish a theme for end- 
less lamentation to many who, in their greedy pur- 
suit of outward distinction, close their eyes to the 
scriptural warnings which God has not given in 
vain, however little we may regard them. 

This chapter is sombre — its subject and its type 
are equally so. No external brightness rests upon 
the Passion-flower ; but that from which it takes 
its name contains even the brightness of the glory 
of God. Dark, sad, and comfortless was all that 
met my view, in the brief and clouded course of my 
poor E. ; but the eye of faith, brightened by the re- 
collection of many a fervent prayer sent up on her 



246 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

behalf, can discern a glorious beam emanating from 
the land that is very far off, with the figure of the 
nun, among a multitude of " backsliding children," 
whom the Lord has reclaimed, rejoicing in the 
splendours that surround the throne of the Lamb. 




THE LEMON PLANT. 



Page 262. 



CHAPTER XXI. 



THE LEMON PLANT. 



While engaged in writing these simple memorials, 
I have often been led to think on a friend, before 
whose eye the pages must frequently have brought 
scenes and characters no less familiar to her than to 
myself. Circumstances had parted us, many years 
ago : and under the pressure of our respective cares, 
amid the multiplying demands on our attention, the 
correspondence had died away : but many a sweet 
anticipation has gladdened my thoughts, as they 
dwelt on a future re-union, either in her own green 
isle, or wheresover the Lord might permit us to 
renew the intercourse which, for three years, sub- 
sisted, to our mutual delight, almost without a day's 
separation. Together we watched the fading of the 
interesting Snow-drop — poor Theresa ! and our 
tears were mingled over the tidings of her blessed 
transition to the world of happy spirits : together 
we rejoiced over the first manifestations of Divine 



248 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

grace in the little dumb boy, who was devotedly at- 
tached to her. Her hand supplied the flowers that 
adorned the cradle of the Irish baby ; and often did 
she hasten to present me with the first and freshest 
buds of May, assuring me of her fervent prayers on 
behalf of the dear, though distant, and to her un- 
known, antitype of those fragrant blossoms. To her 
I took the Passion-flower : and the nun, whom she 
personally knew, formed the theme of numberless 
conversations between us ; while there also, I had 
the help of her persevering prayers. So intimately 
was she acquainted with all most interesting to me, 
that I have almost marvelled she should not have 
broken through the lengthened silence ; won to 
renew the correspondence by the touching of a chord 
in her sensitive bosom, that never failed to respond. 
Alas ! I little thought that she had gone to rejoice 
with those who had awakened so intense an inter- 
est in us : and that the Lemon-plant, or Verbena ? a 
sweet shrub which I had, from the first day of our 
acquaintance, held in a manner sacred to her, was 
soon to be placed among the mementos of the 
dead. 

As I have before remarked, my floral associations 
are very arbitrary. They are sometimes founded 
on a resemblance, traced between the individual and 
the flower ; but more frequently upon some inci- 
dent which has connected them : and then I love to 
follow up the union, by making out some actual 
point of likeness. Not a few of my best-loved 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 249 

friends, thus fancifully identified, are still bright 
and blooming as their gentle representatives ; and 
very delightful is it to behold them together ; more 
particularly if the friend and the flower unexpect- 
edly meet, the first after a prolonged absence, the 
other in the earliest beauty of its annual re-appear- 
ance. The May-flower has greeted me thus ; and 
others not unconnected with the blossom of May ; 
and my heart has bounded with a joy that few can 
realize — with a fond anticipation of future re-ap- 
pearances, even on earth ; and the more sober, but 
far more satisfying prospect of eternal re-union in 
that better land where the flowers fade not, and 
friends can part no more. 

But I am wandering from the Lemon -plant, and 
from her whose memory is like it, fragrant, and 
ever-green. Before we met, I had heard so much of 
her extraordinary attainments and acknowledged 
superiority in all that is both brilliant and valuable, 
that I rather expected something more to be admired 
than loved ; and froze myself as hard as people 
can freeze, amid the sunshine of Irish society, under 
the impression that if I took a fancy to Marie, she 
would prove too abstracted a person to reciprocate 
it. How much was I mistaken ! Never, in my 
life, did I behold a softer personification of all that 
is modest in the truly feminine character ; arrayed, 
too, in the meek and quiet spirit wherewith God 
loves to adorn his dearest children. 

Her dress, her manner, every feature of her intel- 



250 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

ligent and pensive countenance, bespoke the unas- 
suming disciple of a lowly Master. Elegant, she 
could not but be, fashionable she had been, and as 
she told me, proud and overbearing. I was forced 
to believe it, for Marie was infinitely superior to the 
affectation of self-condemning humility ; but years 
of close observation did not enable me to detect a 
vestige of such characteristics. It often astonished 
me that she, who so dearly prized in others the gifts 
of intellect and superior information, should be so 
utterly insensible of her own elevated scale in both 
respects : but I believe it to have been, that having 
long traded in goodly pearls, she so justly appreci- 
ated the one pearl of great price, which she had hap- 
pily found, that her former collection faded into ab- 
solute nothingness in the comparison. 

One hour passed in her society sufficed to rivet 
my regard ; for, interested by some painful circum- 
stances that she had previously heard, as connected 
with my situation, she laid aside her habitual re- 
serve, and bestowed on me such sweet attentions as 
would have won a much colder heart. It was on 
that occasion that she gave me half of a sprig of the 
Lemon-plant from her bosom ; and finding that it 
was a favourite shrub with me, she reared one from 
a cutting, to perfume my little study. The growth 
of our friendship, however, outstripped that of the 
plant, so that before the slip had taken root, Marie 
and I were daily companions. 

Our earliest walks were beside a river, the banks 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 251 

of which were fringed with tall trees ; or along a 
road, where the lofty mountains of Slieve-na-man 
towered, many a mile to the right, while in nearer 
prospect, across the river, was one of the proudest 
and most ancient of Ireland's embattled castles. 
After a while, we became so enamoured of the pre- 
cincts within that castle's walls, that our more ex- 
tended rambles were given up, for the delightful pri- 
vilege of sauntering beneath the rich foliage of its 
venerable trees, and talking over tales of the olden 
times, dear to the children of Erin. The noble pro- 
prietors, on leaving the country for a time, had 
given me the privilege of free entrance at all hours, 
by a private door, into the grounds : with permis- 
sion to extend my rambles into every room of the 
castle. Often have we availed ourselves of this in- 
dulgence to gaze on the antique tapestry, to exa- 
mine the curious reliques of other days, when one 
of the purest patriots that ever drew Irish breath, 
held vice-regal state beneath those battlements : or 
to promenade the long saloon, enriched by the por~ 
traits of many generations, and terminating in a 
projecting window, which from an almost incredi- 
ble height, looked commandingly down upon the 
slow deep river that guarded the foot of that impreg- 
nable fortress. My beloved companion had not, in 
becoming spiritual, lost a whit of her patriotism — 
would that none ever did so ! — and she was proud 
of the castle, and looked on the waving honours of 
its surrounding trees, with a depth of feeling truly 



252 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

Irish. Indeed, under their shadow I seemed to be- 
come Irish also : for it is from that spot, and from 
that period, I date my fervent devotion to dear Ire- 
land and her cause, — a devotion which, I hope and 
trust, will abide in the veins of my heart, till they 
cease to throb with life. 

But there were traits in Marie's character more 
endearing than even her nationality. She was a 
truly consistent Christian ; her views of divine 
things were uncommonly deep and clear : and the 
powers of her fine mind were unreservedly couse- 
crated to His service who had so richly gifted it. 
She was slow in asserting an opinion, because she 
always made sure of her ground ; and rarely, if 
ever, had she occasion to retract it. Great decision 
of character was tempered with such softness of 
manner, and powerful arguments were so modestly 
put forth, that even a child might feel as if on an 
equal footing with her, while imbibing the lessons 
of wisdom. How tender she was in this respect, a 
little instance may shew : I never could forget the 
circumstance, nor think of it without emotion. 

We once, when setting out on a long walk beside 
the river, started a subject whereon our opinions 
considerably differed : it was something connected 
with the grand doctrine of redemption. My notions 
were very crude, but I was abundantly dogmatical 
in proclaiming them. Marie had the better of the 
argument throughout ; and not a word was spoken 
on either side, approaching to intemperance of 
feeling. 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 253 

We had not quite concluded when we reached my 
door, and stood awhile to finish the discussion, as 
the dinner-hour forbade a longer interview. It ended 
by my conceding to her the palm of orthodoxy, 
which I did, I believe, with a good grace ; and we 
parted most affectionately, agreeing to meet on the 
morrow, at noon. The following morning, before I 
was well awake, a billet was brought to my bedside, 
the contents of which amazed me. It was from 
Marie, written at three o'clock in the morning, under 
the most extreme depression of spirits, occasioned 
by an apprehension which had seized her that she 
might, in the earnestness of our discussion, have 
said, or looked, something calculated to pain me : 
and the idea was, she said, intolerable, that she per- 
haps had added a mental pang to the many I was 
called on to endure, by some seemingly unkind re- 
mark, or overbearing assumption. She had wept 
at the thought, had prayed over it ; had acknow- 
ledged it to her mother, and now took the pen to 
implore my forgiveness, if such should have been 
the case. A more simple, touching effusion I never 
perused ; and when I had written my assurance 
that nothing of the kind, nothing even remotely ap- 
proaching it, had occurred, I sat down to meditate 
on the immense distance to which the once proud 
Marie had advanced on the heavenly road, beyond 
me, who said a thousand peevish things almost daily 
to my most indulgent friends, and rarely repented 
of them. 



254 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 



Another distinguishing feature in her sweet cha- 
racter, was the perfect absence of egotism. With 
feelings exquisitely refined, she struggled to conceal 
their delicate sensitiveness, lest minds of a rougher 
mould might feel ill at ease in her company. This 
species of self-denial I have scarcely ever seen prac- 
tised, except by my beloved Marie ; but in her I 
have marked it constantly developed. On the same 
high and generous principle, she concealed her ex- 
traordinary attainments in science ; she was deeply 
versed in even very abstruse philosophy, and her 
acquaintance with learned languages was at once ex- 
tensive and solid. She had books that would have 
graced the library of a university professor, and used 
them too, but they were never seen on her table, 
or her shelves ; nor did a hint of capability for, or 
delight in such studies ever escape her, even to me. 
I verily believe that, to the day of our separation, 
she did not know I was acquainted with the num- 
ber or nature of her accomplishments : yet she had 
no friend so intimate as I was. 

I recollect that one day she was showing me a 
little circular flower-stand, where she had arranged 
her choice plants, just before the window of her 
favourite boudoir. I looked around me : the room 
was not large, but delightfully fitted up. There 
was her piano on one side, and her harp in the 
corner : her book-shelves elegantly arranged, with 
drawings hung round, every one of which, she said ? 
was a memento of something dear to her heart. 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 255 

The love of a mother, who perfectly appreciated, 
and almost idolized this one survivor of her domestic 
circle, had contrived many little useful and orna- 
mental appendages ; while the flower-stand, loaded 
with odoriferous plants, "basked in the pleasant light 
of a window which overlooked her little garden, 
where her two pet families of rare carnations and 
splendid tiger-lilies flourished to her heart's content. 
I remember thus addressing her, ' Marie, you per- 
plex and almost make me discontented. You are 
a child of God, yet have no cross.' She looked at 
me, with a short laugh of surprise, then, while 
her aspect softened into deep humility, she an- 
swered, ' I am, by divine grace, a child of God, 
loaded with innumerable blessings by my heavenly 
Father ; every want supplied, every wish gratified. 
But don't doubt that, when he sees fit, he will find 
a cross for me.' She presently after brought a 
miniature, and laid it before me, asking if I knew 
who it represented. I replied, I had seen some one 
like it, but could not tell where. Her mother, who 
had joined us, said, 6 Five years before you met, that 
was a most striking likeness of Marie.' 

I gazed in astonishment, comparing the lofty and 
spirited mien, the brilliant glow of youthful beauty, 
and deep rich auburn tint of a profuse head of hair, 
as represented in the miniature, with the meek quiet 
aspect, the faded complexion, and the very thin 
locks of pale yellow, that marked my friend. She 
sat quite still during the scrutiny, then said, c It 



256 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

really was a surprising likeness, taken just before I 
lost my darling brother.' Her tears flowed, and, 
smiling through them, she added, while closing the 
the miniature, 6 You must not suppose that I had no 
troubles to bring me to the cross/ 

This was the only allusion that she ever made to 
former trials ; but the incident sunk deep into my 
mind, showing me the Lord's mercy to his dear 
child, in giving her a season of calm enjoyment 
after severe tossings on a stormy sea. Dear gentle 
Marie ! it was not the combination of external 
things, that, gratifying her taste, produced such an 
atmosphere of tranquil happiness around her : it 
was the calm and holy frame of a spirit subdued, a 
heart attuned, under the hand of sanctifying grace. 
She was eminently devout, and had a method in all 
her exercises, a methodical arrangement of her time, 
which conduced, beyond any other mere means, to 
the consistency, the usefulness, the self-possession 
of a child of God. A perfect knowledge of herself 
gave her infinite advantage over those who had 
more superficially, or more partially, investigated 
their own characters. Beholding continually her 
original and actual sinfulness, her failures in at- 
tempting to follow the steps of a perfect Guide, and 
all the secret iniquity of a heart naturally most 
proudly averse from godliness ; beholding these 
things as in the sight of the Omniscient, she was 
kept from the fatal snare of thinking of herself 
more highly than she ought to think ; and thus no 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 257 

slight, no rudeness, no severity of remark, could 
ruffle even the surface of her patient temper. With 
all this she was exceedingly cheerful, and hy her 
frequent flashes of genuine humour often won a 
smile, when no one else could have extorted it. 

In many points, Marie resembled D. Like him 
she owed all to the sanctifying influences of the 
Divine Teacher ; and the fruits of the Spirit were 
very similarly manifested in them. He knew her 
not ; but I have often, in conversing with D. dwelt 
on her character to an interested listener. He 
said he should much like to meet with her : — 
and they have met ! It is an overpowering thought, 
what a numerous company are now assembled 
in heaven, from among those whom I loved on 
earth. Oh, that it might quicken me more in 
following those who, through faith, and patience, 
inherit the promises ! In no instance do I, know- 
ingly, embellish the portraits that I sketch in these 
chapters ; and when comparing myself with them, 
the immeasurable distance at which they left me in 
the race, is not only humbling, but alarming. We 
are too indolent ; too ready to regard with compla- 
cency our acknowledged deficiencies, and to rest in 
that knowledge, as though the consciousness of 
standing still would serve us as well as pressing 
forward in the race. Unless we admit the Popish 
doctrine of supererogatory merit — from which may 
the Lord deliver us! — and consider these dear children 
of God as having done more than was required of 



258 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

them, we must needs be startled to find ourselves 
doing so much less. Neither is this a legal view : 
not one of those chronicled in these pages, held any 
other doctrine than that of salvation by faith alone, 
through grace alone, as the free, sovereign, unme- 
rited gift of God ; but those who adhered to it the 
most tenaciously, were invariably the most zealous 
of good works, the most diligent in business, and 
the most eager in following after perfectness. 

It has struck me as remarkable, that, from the 
time of dear Marie's rearing a Lemon-plant for me, 
I have never been without one, until within the 
last year. That which I had long nursed, died ; 
and I kept the dry unsightly stalk among my 
flourishing plants, more than half a year, in the 
vague hope that it might sprout again ; or under a 
fond feeling of reluctance quite to lose the memento. 
I plucked it up only a few days before I learnt the 
fact of Marie's departure to a better place ; and now 
the sweet shrub must resume its station, a cherished 
memento of what I can no more see on earth. The 
peculiarly healthful fragrance of those slender leaves, 
their rapid growth, and the delicacy of their pale 
verdure, all are in keeping with the traits of Marie's 
character, most vividly impressed on my mind — 
traits that led me, from the commencement of our 
intercourse, to place her first and highest on my 
list of female acquaintance, nor do I expect to meet 
with her equal among women. Yet what was, what 
is she ! A wretched, guilty sinner ; saved, washed, 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 259 

justified, and sanctified, in the name of the Lord 
Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God. Those accom- 
plishments, to the attainment of which so many- 
valuable hours were sacrificed, what were they, to 
an immortal being, sent into this world to fight her 
way through hosts of infernal foes, encompassing 
and inhabiting a body of sin and death 1 Nothing ! 
less than nothing, and vanity ! 

The details connected with my beloved Marie's 
history would far surpass, in touching and heart- 
thrilling interest, those of any individual to w T hom 
I have yet alluded ; but her character needed not 
the aid of such contingent circumstances to render 
it engaging in the eyes of those who knew her ; nor 
does it require that aid to make it attractive to 
those who love to see a cotemporary, adorned in like 
manner as the holy women of old adorned them- 
selves. I could have made my readers weep with 
me ; but I would rather lead them to reflect and to 
pray, encouraged by the exhibition of what God 
wrought in my Marie, and what he is equally able, 
equally willing to work in them also. 



S 2 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

Among the most interesting of the many deep mys- 
teries that invite inquiry, above, around, and with- 
in us, one, not the least attractive to me, has long 
been the communion that an infant soul, or rather 
the soul of an infant, holds with its God. To deny 
the existence of such communion would be rash — to 
substantiate such denial, I think, would be impos- 
sible. Even those w r ho limit infant salvation to the 
seed of believers, and to the baptized, which I do 
not, must own that the disembodied spirit of an 
infant can become a participator in the joys of 
heaven, however early it may be called away ; and 
surely, in an earthly creature, shapen in wicked- 
ness, conceived in sin, and born under the curse, 
with the latent seeds of every evil inherent in its 
nature, there must be a work wrought to fit it for 
the habitations of unsullied purity, and everlasting 
joy. That a soul must be regenerate by the power 




THE PALE BELL OP THE HEATH. 



Page 276, 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 2G1 

of the Holy Ghost, before it can enter the kingdom 
of heaven, is readily admitted : and that God can so 
regenerate a child, even before its eyes have opened 
to behold the light of day, we have distinct proof in 
Scripture. His work accomplished, will any one 
venture to assert, that, because the undeveloped 
state of the mental faculties, and feebleness of the 
bodily organs, preclude the manifestation, to us, of 
what is passing between the soul and its God, there- 
fore nothing does pass ? I cannot believe it, I re- 
member an instance of a confirmed idiot, whose 
faculties up to the age of thirty or forty, had ac- 
quired no greater degree of expansion than was seen 
in the cradle ; but who, during her last illness, at 
that age, gave most incontestible proofs of a glori- 
ous work wrought in her soul, by the power of 
divine grace, which she seemed enabled to commu- 
nicate to those about her, for their special encou- 
ragement in tasks so apparently hopeless : for, in 
other things, she was an idiot to the last. Now, of 
all cases, the infant and the idiot most nearly assi- 
milate — I speak, of course, of extremely young in- 
fants — and I am assured that God can — that he 
does — work in the soul, without the customary me- 
dium of the bodily and mental faculties. Who, by 
searching, can here trace his steps ? No one : but 
it is a very sweet thought to engage us over the 
cradle of a baby ; sweeter still, when we look upon 
its coffin. 

When the Lord has willed it, that some tender 



262 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

babe should be carried to his bosom, before it has 
tasted the cup of mental or spiritual distress, this 
work goes on. Those who like, may limit it to a 
particular class ; I firmly believe it of every child 
of Adam, whose days are numbered and ended be- 
fore " they, by reason of use, have their senses ex- 
ercised to discern both good and evil." I do not 
suppose that an early death brings them necessarily 
within the bonds of the covenant : but I do believe 
that being chosen in Christ, along with others, be- 
fore the foundation of the world, these infants are 
mercifully spared the stern conflict awaiting those 
who are brought up for the church militant ; they 
are caught away to swell the countless multitude 
of the church triumphant. In this contemplation, 
I see, as it were, unnumbered victims continually 
rescued from the grasp of Satan, in those regions of 
the earth whose inhabitants sit in darkness and in 
the shadow of death : and I rejoice, that in no 
quarter of this magnificent globe is his empire per- 
fect ; his power unresisted ; or the prey safe within 
his iron grasp. Such views must be, in a measure 
speculative ; but their foundation is the sure word 
of God, from which this sweet and soothing doc- 
trine can very fairly be educed. My own mind is 
not troubled with a doubt upon the subject ; and 
very few things does this visible world afford that 
draw from my heart such a full and fervent Halle- 
lujah, as the tiny coffin, with its little white pall, 
carried, perhaps, under the arm of a sorrowful 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 263 

father, while the mother or sister steps behind, in 
tears of natural grief. I can weep with them, for 
it is a sore trial to a parent's heart ; but over the 
baby I do and must rejoice, with joy unspeakable 
and full of glory. 

There is a little flower of exquisite delicacy, 
which springs up among the heath and rough grass, 
in uncultivated spots. Its form is that of a single 
bell, closely resembling the Canterbury bell of our 
gardens, and its texture transparently fine. The 
stem rises perhaps two inches from the ground, and 
there, in the attitude of a snow-drop, depends this 
soft little cup, dissimilar in many respects from the 
well-known blue-bell of the heaths, and wearing 
the grey tint of its kindred autumnal sky, rather 
than the sprightly azure of summer. The aspect 
of this wild- flower is so infantine, so fragile, so 
ethereal, that we wonder to recognize it among the 
hardy heather, and the rugged grasses where it 
usually dwells. We see it in our path one day ; the 
next it is gone, leaving no perceptible vacancy 
among its thickly-spread neighbours, except to the 
eye of those who marked its lovely form unfolding 
to the bleak winds, and anticipated how short a so- 
journ such a thing of gossamer would make in such 
a clime. 

I have loved this little flower from childhood, and 
have often stepped aside to avoid placing my foot 
upon its innocent-looking head : but I never con- 
nected it, until veiy recently, with a living object. 



2G4 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

The association has, however, been formed ; and 
fondly shall I henceforth welcome the pale, solitary 
blue bell of the hills — it now typifies one of the 
loveliest and most touching links that connects this 
dark, rough world, with the pure and shining habi- 
tations above. 

They say that all babies are alike ; it is not true : 
for, to one who observes them with the intense inter- 
est that they merit, there is, even among the newly- 
born, an endless, boundless variety. There is a trait 
of grandeur, proper to the offspring of man's majes- 
tic race, while yet unconscious of the workings of 
inbred sin, that throws over them a general aspect 
peculiar to that privileged age ; but it is like the 
sun-beam upon a garden of dewy flowers — a general 
brilliancy sparkling over all, and by no means affect- 
ing their individuality of character. None of them 
have yet put on the external livery of Satan, though 
all are born in bondage to his yoke : but some have 
received the secret seal of adoption, and are passing 
onward to the kingdom of glory, never to know the 
defiling touch of the wicked one. Elect, according 
to the foreknowledge of God the Father, destined 
for an early entrance into the inheritance of the 
saints in light, born into visible existence, washed, 
sanctified, justified, by a process equally rapid, mys- 
terious, and sublime, they pass before our eyes, and 
glide away to the bosom of their God. Most happy, 
most privileged of all created beings, save only the 
angels who, having never fallen under the condem- 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 265 

nation of disobedience, knows not the drop of bit- 
terness that extorts a cry from the new-born babe. 

When I first saw the little one, who is now vividly 
present to my mind, she was closely nestled in her 
pillow, and I hardly caught a glimpse of the features 
on which day-light had shone only for three weeks. 
From time to time, I was told of her singular love- 
liness, but she had numbered five months before I 
was able to repeat my visit. Never shall I forget 
the feelings that arose as I gazed upon that child. 
The aspect of perfect health, combined with strength 
and sprightliness even beyond her age, seemed fully 
to justify the sanguine anticipations of a devoted 
mother, that she should successfully rear the babe : 
but every look that I cast upon it, brought closer to 
heart, a conviction, such as I had never felt before, 
respecting any infant, that it could not be formed for 
earth. It was not the exquisite loveliness of the 
child, the perfection of its features, the transparent 
brilliancy of its beautiful complexion, and the sin- 
gular mouldings of its delicate limbs, which any 
sculptor might have coveted to perpetuate in alabas- 
ter of kindred purity ; it was not even the tranquil 
expression of its placid brow, not the soft smile that 
gently dimpled its little budding mouth, nor the 
assurance of its delighted mother, that so sweet and 
calm a temper she had never traced in any infant. 
No : it was a character spread over the babe, of 
something so pure, so holy, so far removed from weak 
and wayward mortality, that while I gazed on her, 



266 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

my tears burst forth, partly from the irresistible 
conviction that I was looking upon a thing of hea- 
ven, and partly from the unavoidable association of 
those thoughts with a coming scene of maternal 
lamentation and woe. 

Does any reader deem this a fanciful impression ? 
then I will relate the simple fact, that subsequent to 
the realization of my forebodings, I met a dear 
Christian friend who told me that, having about the 
same time seen the infant, she was so deeply struck 
by what I am vainly trying to describe, that she re- 
marked to her husband, on leaving the house, how 
strong was her conviction that the stamp of heaven 
was upon it, and that it would be very early re- 
moved to its home. In reply, he expressed his sur- 
prise that her secret thoughts should have so exactly 
corresponded with his own. 

It may be asked, If in one case, the image of hea- 
venly things be visible on an infant about to be re- 
ceived into glory, why not in many — in all ? I 
would reply, that among those who are taken home 
after a more lengthened pilgrimage, we sometimes 
behold extraordinary foretastes of the joy set before 
them, which they are able to communicate to sur- 
rounding friends, who doubtless, with the church 
at large, experience much comfort and encourage- 
ment therefrom. They seem, indeed, to be granted 
for that purpose ; and why should not a peculiar 
demonstration of indwelling grace be occasionally 
afforded to the watchful eye of a tender mother, 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 267 

whose infant is about to be taken from her bosom ; 
and to cheer, as it surely is calculated to do, the 
hearts of many mourning parents, who may be 
longing to accumulate proofs as to the actual mani- 
festation of Christ's love to little babes, even in the 
flesh? 

In this case the Lord had emphatically lent the 
infant heirs of glory to parental care, and very early 
received them to his own kingdom. Is it too much 
to believe of Him whose name is " Love," and whose 
nature is " very pitiful," that under a reiterated 
blow upon the shrinking heart of a most fond young 
mother, he should vouchsafe an especial cordial ? 
Was it not a sharp trial to see five little coffins suc- 
cessively borne away from her door, leaving but 
two of her household flock over whom to watch and 
to tremble % Mothers, perhaps, can rightly answer 
this question. We do most shamefully limit the 
Holy one of Israel ; and to Him alone is it known 
how many cups of heavenly consolation are dashed 
from our lips, because blind unbelief cannot discern 
them. 

One trait that I remarked in the beautiful babe, 
was a peculiarly pensive softness, which it was im- 
possible to regard otherwise than as the meek and 
patient yearning of the soul after something that 
was not found in objects presented to the outward 
sense. I traced it, during the several opportunities 
that I had for observing her, and could not believe 
myself mistaken. The impression was, that some 



268 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

glorious things had been revealed, as in visions of 
the night to the baby, around whom we at least 
assuredly know that those angels were busy, who 
are "ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to 
them that shall be heirs of salvation." And who 
w T ill deny that an immortal and ransomed soul, un- 
polluted by actual sin, and on the point of crossing 
the threshold of heaven, may have perceptions, and 
enjoy revelations, quite inconceivable to us, in our 
depraved and darkened stage of perpetually out- 
breaking iniquity 1 How foolish is the wisdom of 
the wise, when brought to bear upon a point of 
which neither they nor I can know any thing ! 
We cannot refer to our own infancy, because — even 
if memory could, under any circumstances, wander 
so far back as to our cradles — we were not of the 
number of those to whom, exclusively, these re- 
marks apply — infants chosen to early glory, before 
the world could put in its plea for a share of them. 
The tiny bell will yet spring up among the hea- 
ther, distinguished by its soft tint from the rougher 
and more abiding plants around it. Not formed, 
like them, to sustain the rude crush of careless foot- 
steps, we anticipate its early doom in the fragile 
tenderness of its aspect. It was not so with the 
lovely antitype : she bore the impress of health and 
longevity : and the blight which laid her low, ere 
six months had passed over her, was no constitu- 
tional malady. I should rather trace the resem- 
blance in this, that both bore too much the hue of 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 269 

heaven to abide long on earth. What I mean by 
the line of heaven, as regards the babe, was that 
singular expression to which I have before alluded. 
Her beautiful brow was thoughtful, even to a care- 
less eye ; and the grace that reigned in every move- 
ment of her head and limbs, was truly majestic. 
You could not study her countenance without fan- 
cying that she communed with a brighter world ; 
and that something of calm sadness hung over her 
view of sensible things. I was struck by the man - 
ner in which she would take hold of her young 
brother, steadying the boy's face between her deli- 
cate hands, and gazing upon it with a kind of per- 
plexed earnestness, as if other images were floating 
in her mind. Be it as it may, this we joyously 
know, that no sooner had the soft lid fallen for the 
last time over the clear, intelligent eye, than the 
spirit gained an accession of knowledge, to which 
the proudest attainments of reasoning man in his 
full maturity, are as the winding of the earth-worm 
through his dark and slimy crevices, compared with 
the loftiest flight of the eagle towards the morning 
sun. It is no questionable speculation : u I say 
unto you," said the Loe,d Jesus Christ, " that in 
heaven, their angels do always behold the face of 
my Father which is in heaven." Oh, it is delicious 
to think of the rapture that is experienced by the 
glorified soul of such a one, when, mounting to the 
innumerable company of angels, and to the spirits 
of just men made perfect, it sings the song of the 



270 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

redeemed, at the moment of becoming acquainted 
with the mystery of redemption ! " Unto him that 
loved us, and washed us from our sins, in his own 
blood," is the sound first heard, on entering the 
everlasting gates ; and then to learn the story of 
Christ's cross at the foot of Christ's throne ! to gaze 
on the Lamb that had been slain, while the tale of 
that propitiatory slaughter is drunk in amid the 
songs of heaven ! To look back upon the world 
while its snares are first unfolded, and know that it 
is fully, and for ever escaped ! Oh, ye weeping 
mothers ! bring such thoughts as these to the death- 
beds, the coffins, the graves, of your happy, happy 
little ones, and you will feel that God does give you 
wages for nursing, through a few short tearful days, 
those children for Him. 

I shall not again see the sweet infant bell of the 
heath rise up, without a tear for the gentle babe, 
through whose blue veins flowed blood not alien to 
me and mine, and whose lovely aspect frequently 
comes before me, in the silent hour, to melt my 
heart into sympathy with those who owned a much 
nearer tie : but I will look up and rejoice ; for pre- 
cious is her lot, and her rest is very glorious. 



" Beautiful baby ! art thou sleeping 
Ne'er to unclose that beaming eye ? 

Deaf to the voice of a mother's weeping, 
All unmoved by a father's sigh ! 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 271 

Wilt thou forsake the breast that bore thee : 

Seeking a lone, a distant spot, 
To bid the cold, damp sod close o'er thee, 

Amid the slumb'rers who waken not ! " 

Mother, loved mother, I am not sleeping ; 

Father, look up to the soft blue sky ; 
Where the glittering stars bright watch are keeping, 

Singing and shining, there am I. 

Warm was the tender breast that bore me ; 

'Twas sweet, my mother, to rest with thee : 
But I was chosen — thou must restore me 

To the fonder bosom that bled for me. 

1 lingered below, till just discerning 

My father's voice, and my mother's smile ; 

Love's infant lesson my heart was learning, 
But oft my spirit was sad the while. 

Hast thou ne'er marked thy baby dreaming ? 

Sawest thou no radiance o'er her spread ? 
Oh, rich and pure were the bright rays streaming 

The songs of heaven were round my bed. 

And when I waked, though thou wast bending 
With looks almost like my sunny dreams, 

My soul to that softer world was tending, 
My home was sfcill with the songs and beams. 

My brothers; — my heart grew daily fonder, 
When gazing on each young smiling face, 

But I yearned for the brothers, who, sparkling yonder 
Had sung to me oft, from their beauteous place. 



272 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

Oh ! many a lonely hour of weeping 

Thou hast passed by their forsaken bed ; 

But sorrow no more, they are not sleeping, 
They linger not with the silent dead. 

Could I show thee mine, and my brothers' dwelling, 
Could I sing thee the songs we are singing here, 

Could I tell thee the tales that we are telling, 
Oh where, my mother, would be thy tear ! 

For we on milk-white wings are sailing, 
Where rainbow tints surround the throne, 

And while bright seraphs their eyes are veiling 
We see the face of the Holy One. 

And we, when heaven's high arch rejoices 
With thundering notes of raptured praise, 

We, thine own babes, with loud sweet voices, 
The frequent hallelujah raise. 

And we, oh, we are closely pressing 

Where stands the Lamb for sinners slain : — 

Hark ! " Glory, honour, power and blessing," 
Away ! we are called to swell the strain. 

Mother, loved .Mother, we are not sleeping ; 

Father, look up where the bright stars be ; 
Where all the planets their watch are keeping, 

Singing and shining, there are we ! 




THE GUERNSEY LTLY. 



Page 290. 






CHAPTER XXIII. 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 



The Guernsey Lily may not be known to all my 
readers ; but those who have seen it will admit its 
claim to rank with the most beautiful of that ele- 
gant family. Rising in a slender stem of reddish 
hue, without the slightest appearance of anything 
resembling a leaf, it shoots up, exhibiting a dull- 
looking sort of blossom, from which, in time, escape 
as from a cell, numerous other buds, all wearing the 
same dusky aspect. So far, all is unpromising 
enough ; but on a sudden, out bursts such a display 
of beauty as the eye cannot soon weary of. From 
the top of the single stem, flower-stalks branch off, 
to the number of eight, each bearing a lily of the 
most glowing rose-colour, and rivalling in form any 
production that our parterre or conservatory can 
bring to compete the prize of elegance. Each flower 
would be a star with six points, did not the graceful 
curl of the petals, bending backwards, change its 



274 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

character ; and when I contrast the splendid mag- 
nificence of the expanded cluster with its embryo 
appearance, I am lost in admiration. 

This beautiful Lily had long been a favourite, but 
for years I had not possessed one. A dear friend in 
the Lord, though personally a stranger, inhabiting 
one of the lovely isles where the flower is natural- 
ized, was tempted, by the tale of my lost Verbena, 
to send me one of her own rearing, across the sea : 
while another sister, both loved and known, added 
half a dozen roots of the Lily, just on the point of 
throwing out their flower- stalks. I potted the little 
treasures in a mass, and, soon after, left home for a 
few days. Returning, I was delighted to find my 
Lilies in full expansion ; and as I gazed upon the 
clusters glowing in beauty and grace, I could not 
but exclaim, " No : Solomon in all his glory was 
not arrayed like one of these." 

The transition is so easy and natural, as to be in 
my mind almost inevitable, from the contemplation 
of a folded and dusky blossom thus suddenly assum- 
ing its station among other plants, a bright and 
perfect flower, to that of a spirit, bursting its mortal 
enclosure, and standing, arrayed in celestial glory, 
among the redeemed ones who encircled the throne 
of the Most High. Proportioned to the sharpness of 
their trials, and the gloom of their earthly lot, is the 
delight that accompanies this consideration ; and if 
the flower be, like my Guernsey Lily, of a very un- 
inviting aspect until it becomes exquisitely beauti- 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 275 

ful, the mind will revert to some of the abject poor 
of this world, rich in faith, who were heirs, and are 
now occupants, of the kingdom of heaven. Such a 
case is forcibly brought to my recollection at this 
moment ; and I will not withhold it. 

About four years and a half ago, I was invited 
by a young friend of noble family to accompany 
him into his favourite haunt — St. Giles's. The 
transition was certainly calculated to strike any 
mind with double effect ; for we left a splendid man- 
sion, in one of the great squares in the extreme west, 
where all was princely within, and a bright sun- 
shine flashing, as we passed into the street, from the 
gay equipages that rolled along, and walked towards 
Bloomsbury beneath gathering clouds, which, just 
as we approached the confines of the Irish district, 
descended on us in a drizzling rain, more uncomfort- 
able than a smart shower would have been. Those, 
and those alone, who have trod the mazes of St. 
Giles's, can conceive the effect produced on my feel- 
ings, when I found myself within its narrow streets, 
bordered with their dreary-looking tenements ; 
every fourth or fifth step bringing me on the verge of 
an abrupt flight of almost perpendicular stairs, ter- 
minating in a low-roofed cellar, the abode of as 
many squalid outcasts as could congregate within 
its walls ; while above, wretchedness, vice, and de- 
speration looked out, in all their forms, from win- 
dows, or rather window- frames, where the little glass 
that remained seemed but a receptacle for all the 
T 2 



27G THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

filth that could accumulate upon it. There is at 
this day, in some of those streets, what may be 
called an improvement, compared with their aspect 
four years ago : but strong must be the nerves, or 
most obdurate the feelings of him who, even now, 
could pace these dreadful haunts of misery and 
crime without a shuddering wish to be again beyond 
their boundary. To me, the scene was not new ; 
but I had rarely ventured far into it ; and it was 
with a heavy depression of spirits that I followed 
closely the steps of my conductor, where two could 
not find space to walk abreast. The state of the 
pavement, even in fine weather, defies the most cir- 
cumspect to escape defilement, from the mixture of 
every thing that can render it unclean ; and the 
effect of a shower is any thing but purifying in 
those regions. St. Giles's, enveloped in a drizzling 
mist, immediately after B Square in the sun- 
shine ! Who can describe it ? 

At length my friend paused, and, to my no small 
dismay, conducted me into what was evidently a 
dram-shop of the lowest character. Before the door 
were assembled some half-dozen of ragged wild- 
looking young men, engaged in a gambling specula- 
tion at pitch-and-toss, evidently with, excited pas- 
sions, which found vent in imprecations uttered in 
Irish, with an occasional kick or blow. The faces 
that laughed upon me, from within the low, wide, 
well-glazed windows, were yet more appalling to my 
sight : but I was ashamed to draw back — M. had 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 277 

told me that we were to convey relief to a suffering 
child of God ; and on such a mission, to a sick, per- 
secuted convert from popery too, we might reckon 
on whatever discouragement the enemy could be 
permitted to cast across our path. We walked 
hastily through a long passage, leaving the tap-room 
on our left, and mounted some wide stairs ; then 
turned to a narrower flight, half-way up which, all 
being dark, M. tapped at a side-door. It was opened 
by a woman of no very prepossessing countenance, 
although her manner displayed the excess of ser- 
vility and adulation. M. passed her, advancing to 
a low bedstead, where lay an old man, whose noble 
expansion of forehead, and singularly fine counte- 
nance attracted me at once ; but when he put forth 
his hands, to clasp that of his benefactor, I drew 
back with horror from a spectacle such as I never 
before or since beheld. The old man had suffered 
from rheumatism in so dreadful a degree, that the 
last joint of each finger was reversed, or bent back- 
ward, so as to make the ends stand out in a most 
frightful manner, the second or middle joint being 
as firmly fixed in a crooked position, as though the 
fingers were made of metal : the thumbs also turned 
back. A pair of large bony hands thus formed, or 
rather deformed, and stretched out to seize between 
them the hand of another person, was really a ter- 
rific spectacle to one who had never beheld such a 
thing ; and I became so nervous, that M. covered 
them with a portion of the scanty bed-clothes, and 



273 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

gently requested O'Neill not to let me see them 
again. His feet were, I was told, in a more painful 
state of distortion. 

The room w r as perfectly bare, save of an old chest, 
a broken chair, and a stool ; an iron pot for pota- 
toes, and a basin and a plate. It was perfectly 
clean, nevertheless, and recently white- washed, 
which gave it a more comfortable appearance than 
most of the abodes in that place. My attention, 
however, was soon so completely engrossed by 
O'Neill's discourse, that I had little leisure for 
other remarks. He was aged ; but when raised in 
his bed, I thought I never had beheld a more im- 
posing countenance and manner ; there was much 
of genuine dignity, and consciousness of former re- 
spectability in station, and superior mental endow- 
ment ; much information ; a flow of well-chosen 
language, and sometimes a touching allusion to his 
destitute state, as having proceeded from the death 
of an only and affectionate son, who had contributed 
largely to his support. But the one subject on 
which O'Neill shone out with striking lustre, was 
the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ. It was 
not the studied language of a man who can speak 
well on a subject whereon he has thought much — it 
w T as the overflow of a full heart, which had felt 
much. His utter abhorrence of himself, as a lost 
sinner, his unqualified and shuddering renunciation 
of all the merit-mongering work of popery ; his 
fervent, passionate appeals, with uplifted eyes and 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 279 

streaming tears, for more of the Holy Spirit's teach- 
ing ; and his torrents of adoring thanksgiving for 
the redeeming love which had paid so costly a price 
for the ransom of his soul, when no help was to be 
found save in that atonement — all spoke the hum- 
bled, convinced, seeking, rejoicing believer in Christ 
Jesus. He was energetic, to a degree that would 
have been deemed too vehement in an Englishman ; 
but O'Neill was thoroughly Irish, as I soon found, 
when, on my subsequent visits, I took an Irish 
reader to him. He was indeed quite a scholar in 
that tongue ; and it was most affecting to behold 
his crippled distorted fingers contriving to retain 
within their grasp the blessed Book, and to turn 
over its pages. 

I soon found that O'Neill's wife had a sad pro- 
pensity for strong drink : and that the donations 
bestowed, in money or linen, on this interesting 
character, too generally found their way to the tap- 
room below. The noble lady, whose mansion I 
had just left, had placed in my hands a sum of 
money, for the use of her poor countrymen in St. 
Giles's : and I resolved that out of this I would re- 
gularly supply O'Neill with nutriment proper for 
his weak state. I thank God, I was able, from one 
source or another, to continue it up to the time of 
his death, more than two years after. My dislike 
of his poor crooked fingers soon vanished ; and 
many, oh many a day have I ran up the long pas- 
sage, and mounted the stairs, and placed myself on 



280 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

the old box, with one of those formidable hands 
clasping mine, while I read or talked to the dear old 
saint about his glorious Redeemer. The daily pit- 
tance of soup, or milk, with bread, soon nourished 
him into better health ; and the little service of 
being the medium through which the bounty of 
others reached him, won for me such a warm niche 
in his Irish heart, that it almost amounted to 
idolatry. 

To such a place I could not, of course, go alone : 
but the privilege of visiting O'Neill was sought for 
by so many, that I never lacked a companion. The 
dear pastor of the Irish Church in that place de- 
lighted in him ; and unbounded was O'Neill's affec- 
tion for Mr. B. But though he was exposed to so 
much notice as might try the Christian humility of 
any man, O'Neill lay quiet at the foot of the cross, 
glorying in that alone. He had some habits that 
gave offence to persons of various character ; but I 
liked them all. One was what is irreverently called 
c craw-thumping.' Every one knows that the poor 
Homanist, at confession, is instructed to strike hard 
upon his breast with the right fist, as a sign of con- 
trition ; and this practice O'Neill never laid aside. 
His self-condemnation, and his prayer for divine 
teaching, were accompanied with so many blows 
from his poor hand, that I have seen some of the 
Irish readers in no small commotion about it — dis- 
posed to question the reality of his conversion, while 
so shockingly popish a habit was retained. To me 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 231 

it bespoke the sincerity of the man, far more clearly 
than its abandonment could have done. Another 
foible was his extreme politeness : when friends en- 
tered, he would, raising himself in the bed, call to 
his wife to place the box here, and the chair there, 
and the stool beside it ; and waving his hand with 
the most ceremonious and courteous gesture, he 
would direct the process of seating the company ; 
then, from beneath his pillow, draw forth an antique 
horn snuff-box, and pass it round with an air wholly 
inimitable. More than one good person has said to 
me, in this stage of the business, ' The man is all 
artificial : what has a beggar to do with such absurd 
forms ? ' To which I have replied, ' O'Neill is not 
going to beg of you ; so be quiet, and take a lesson 
in good manners.' I never knew any one leave him 
under other impression than that he was simple 
sincerity personified. 

It pleased God to let me labour among those dear 
outcasts for months together ; but after a time my 
residence was changed, and I made few visits there. 
Still, so far as my charity-purse served, through the 
help of richer friends, my pensioners were regularly 
attended to ; and D. beloved D., was the overseer of 
the work. The cholera came, and swept away many 
an Irish beggar out of wretched St. Giles's, and the 
malignant fever carried away many more. D. fell 
beneath the latter. I followed his remains to the 
grave ; and seeing some of my poor people bending 
over it in an agony of unrestrained sorrow, my 



282 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

heart was stirred up to visit them during the few 
hours of my stay in town. I took a clerical friend 
with me, and plunged at once into the douhly deso- 
late scenes that I had too long been estranged from. 

With some difficulty, in a most wretched garret, 
immeasurably inferior to his former lodging, I found 
O'Neill. He lay almost on the bare ground, with- 
out a vestige of any earthly comfort. Even the 
cleanliness that had always marked his appearance, 
was gone. He could not lift his head from the pil- 
low of rags ; but when I spoke, he clasped my hand 
within his trembling, crooked fingers, and sobbed 
his blessing for the daily pittance of milk and bread. 
He then told us that during the illness of D. he had 
been attacked by cholera, had been in the hospital, 
as a most desperate case — had been brought through 
it, and returned to his garret, to linger on as before. 
It did indeed appear most wonderful that such an 
object could have survived the attack ; and unbelief 
almost repined at it. I mean my unbelief: for 
O'Neill, though with scarcely power to strike his 
withered hand upon his breast, was as low in self- 
abasement, as energetic in the faith that is in Christ 
Jesus, as ever : and no less willing to stay than pre- 
pared to go. 

My companion was much struck with the old 
man ; he talked long and then prayed with him ; 
and afterwards added his most unequivocal testi- 
mony to that of the many who had formerly visited 
him. It was my last interview with O'Neill ; but 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 283 

I had the comfort of knowing that he enjoyed the 
daily portion of nourishment, and the pastoral cares 
of his beloved minister. It was a welcome commu- 
nication which told me, twelve months afterwards, 
that he had departed in a state of unspeakable re- 
joicing, to be with Christ for ever. His death was 
remarkable for the vivid realization that he enjoyed 
of future glory, strikingly contrasted with the hu* 
mility and self-suspicion that had formerly charac- 
terized him. I remember once taking a Christian 
divine to visit him, who preached up personal assur- 
ance as an indispensable evidence of saving faith : 
hut all his expostulations could not extort from 
O'Neill a stronger word than i I hope/ as regarded 
his eternal inheritance.' ' Are you going to heaven, 
O'Neill 1 ' * I hope, through the precious blood of 
my Redeemer, that I am, sir.' c That is not enough ; 
you must be sure of it.' \ I'm sure, sir, that Christ 
came to save such sinners as me : and I'm sure I 
desire to be saved by Him ; and I hope He will save 
me, sir.' ' Why, have you not the earnest of the 
Spirit ? ' c I hope I have, sir.' At last my friend 
plainly told him that his state was far from satis- 
factory : the tears streamed from the poor old man's 
eyes, and repeatedly he struck his breast : but all 
that he would utter was the ejaculation : — : I hope 
— I hope He will save me!' I took care to run 
back to his bed-side, when the others were depart- 
ing, and to tell him that his hope would never make 
him ashamed ; and that though assurance might be 



284 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

a privilege, it was no test of saving faith. Dear 
O'Neill enjoyed it at last, though if his latest breath 
had been but an c I hope,' I should be just as well 
satisfied concerning him. 

My beautiful Guernsey Lilies — what is their ex- 
quisite dress to that in which old Patrick O'Neill, 
the Irish beggar of St. Giles', now shines ? " Solo- 
mon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of 
these ; " but all the glory of this gorgeous creation 
affords not a type for that in which the redeemed 
soul stands complete before God. I know not the 
exact spot where the distorted joints of the old Irish- 
man now moulder into dust ; but well I know that 
thence shall arise a being fashioned like unto Christ's 
glorious body. The form that wears the white robe, 
bleached in the blood of the Lamb, will not bend 
under the burden of disease ; the hand that tunes a 
celestial harp will be pained and crippled no more ! 
neither smite upon the breast in the anguish of self- 
accusing compunction. My poor O'Neill, now rich 
with inexhaustible treasures, has already changed 
c I believe, ' into i I see,' and i I hope ' into i I pos- 
sess.' The bountiful lady whose alms first enabled 
me to nourish him, is with him there; and D., who 
ministered like a comforting angel unto him in the 
dark dungeons of St. Giles's, is likewise " made 
equal unto the angels," and joining their hallelujahs 
in the courts of heaven. Howels, whose energetic 
plea from the pulpit once poured upwards of fifty 
pounds into my St. Giles's purse, is there too : ' an 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 285 

in-door servant/ according to his own beautiful, 
dying thought, rejoicing among the souls whom he 
helped to gather in. And now what matters it, whe- 
ther like that titled lady they lived in princely halls, 
faring sumptuously every day, or like O'Neill, re- 
ceived at the hand of charity a daily dole in a gar- 
ret ; whether like Howels they formed the centre 
chief of an admiring congregation; " known and 
read of all men," or like D. paced the darkened 
streets, and obscure alleys, to do good by stealth ; 
concealing from the left hand the works of the 
right ! All were the Lord's dear children ; all glo- 
rified Him where he had seen good to place them. 
Affluence and destitution, beauty and distortion, 
health and disease, fame and obscurity, all were 
blessed — all made a blessing, through the grace of 
God in Christ Jesus. Go then, dear reader, and give 
thanks unto the Lord for your lot, whatsoever it be ; 
and pray, like poor O'Neill, for the teaching of the 
divine Spirit, that your body may become a holy 
temple unto Him, and that your soul may be saved 
in the day of the Lord Jesus Christ. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



THE IVY. 



Two winters of singular mildness had led me so far 
to forget the general characteristics of that dreary 
season, that when the customary Might fell, some- 
what abruptly, on the vegetable world, it startled 
me to find my garden metamorphosed into a desert. 
The tall dahlias stood, full-leaved as before ; but the 
verdant robe of yesterday had been changed into 
gloomy blackness, and stems that lately seemed to 
support some perennial shrub, were indebted only 
to the stakes to which we had bound them for the 
upright position they still maintained. The China 
rose-trees, with which my garden abounds, pre- 
sented a less forlorn aspect, because their evergreen 
mantle was proof against the power of frost ; but 
their numerous buds, lovely and fresh when the 
setting sunbeam last lingered among them, had 
drooped their delicate heads in death, I walked on, 
marking as I passed, two little flowers of the lowly 




Page 304 



THE IVY. 287 

heart's-ease in untarnished beauty, smiling at the 
foot of one of these lofty but disfigured rose-trees ; 
and proceeded to the spot where my lauristinus, 
lifting its vigorous head in calm defiance of every 
blight, was putting out its white buds with more 
than their wonted profusion ; and there I stood in 
happy reverie, thinking of the spirit made perfect, 
of him whom the shrub typifies in my imagination 
— that devoted old servant of Christ, Charles Sey- 
mour, who long gladdened the western wilds of poor 
Ireland with the riches of gospel promise, set forth 
in her ancient tongue — until my eye wandered to 
the wall just behind it, which stretching to some 
distance on either hand, wears a vesture of Ivy, the 
growth of man} r years ; of bushy thickness towards 
the top, where it crowns its supporter with the dark 
polished berries that beautifully accord with the 
whole character of the plant. The lauristinus, 
mingling its upper branches with this ancient 
friend, appears as of one family, yet different and 
distinguished in a striking manner. I looked until 
my tears flowed, for the power of imagination was 
irresistible, and the scene which opened on my mind 
was one of overwhelming interest. 

I am not writing fiction ; the objects that I de- 
scribe are within my view at this moment, dis- 
tinctly visible from 'my window, and their relative 
position is precisely what I have stated. But, stand- 
ing close beside them under the influence of the 
wintry air that had desolated the scene around, 



288 THE IVY. 

while seared leaves, wafted from the tall trees above 
my head; were sinking at my feet, never more to 
rise from their parent earth — all these things gave 
a reality to the contemplation not to be felt under 
other circumstances ; and I record my feelings 
without expecting any reader to enter into their 
depth. 

The Ivy, as I have formerly observed, is to me 
a lively representation of the work and the power 
of faith. Its strength consists in the tenacity with 
which it clings to something foreign to its own sub- 
stance : identifying itself, by a wonderful process, 
with what it adheres to. Alone, it cannot stand : 
if you tear it from its prop, down must fall every 
branch, at the mere}' of any trampling foot of man 
or beast. The analogy in my mind was perfect ; 
there stood the two plants ; one, rooted in distinct 
individuality, needing no prop, fearing no foe, 
adorned with a white, a beauteous robe, woven by 
the finger of God ; the other, strong only in con- 
scious weakness, sombre in hue, its very fruit clad 
in the mourning tint of affliction, yet tending up- 
wards, clustering in fulness proportioned to its 
growth, and braving every blast in the confidence 
of its firm fixture to that which could not be moved. 
— What had I before my eyes, but one glorified 
member of the triumphant church above, and the 
afflicted, yet highly-privileged body of his own dear 
brethren, the church of Ireland militant here below ! 

Militant is the distinguishing epithet of Christ's 



THE IVY. 289 

church, and of each individual belonging unto it, 
until, the warfare being accomplished, the good fight 
fought, and faith kept unto death, the crown of 
righteousness is awarded, and the happy spirit be- 
comes incorporated with the church triumphant in 
heaven. The little babe, whose short breathings are 
oppressed, and its tiny frame faintly struggling 
through the few days of its sojourn on earth, is 
militant here below. The strong youth, robust in 
health, whose eyes sparkle in promise of long and 
active existence, while his heart, renewed by the 
secret influences of divine grace, witnesses a conflict 
hidden from mortal eye, between the law of life 
written therein, and the law of sin warring in his 
members, is militant here below. The man of full 
and sobered age, who has numbered, perhaps, more 
than half the longest probable duration of human 
life, who looks round, it may be, on a blooming 
family of loving and dutiful children, while his soul, 
bound down by those delicious ties, cleaves to the 
dust, when he would have it mount upward to the 
throne of God — howsoever smooth and blissful his 
lot may seem, is militant here below. The aged 
servant of Christ, who has borne in the vineyard 
the heat and burden of the day — the faithful veteran, 
who, in many a contest with his Master's foes, has 
come off more than conqueror, through Him who 
loved him ; and who, tottering now on life's ex- 
tremest verge, is regarded as most triumphantly 
secure of his crown, most enviably near to heaven — 
u 



290 THE IVY. 

he too has fightings without and fears within ; he 
too, while the body still detains him ; is militant 
here below. 

The universal acknowledgment of all, whether 
uttered by the lips, or secretly made in the heart's 
recesses, in that voice of which God alone is cogni- 
zant, is ever "We, in this tabernacle, do groan, being 
burdened." I have known some dear self-doubting 
children of Zion go heavily in perpetual grief, merely 
because no outward cross was, at that particular 
time, laid on them. A somewhat closer acquaint- 
ance with God and with themselves has never failed, 
in such cases, to convince them that He, not they, 
was the best judge when, and how, and of what 
kind the discipline prepared for them should be. 
But the very apprehension engendered by such sup- 
posed exclusion from the badge of His servants, was 
in itself, no light cross ; and they, contending against 
their own misgivings, were equally militant here 
below. 

If such be the general experience of those most 
highly favoured in external things, what shall we 
say of such as, like the winter Ivy, stand exposed 
to the fiercest assault of blight, and blast, and 
storm, and external desolation, that the elements of 
earth, directed by the permitted fury of evil spirits, 
can bring to bear on their unsheltered heads ! The 
condition of those faithful men, who, at this moment 
are doing the work of evangelists in that branch of 
the Protestant Church established in Ireland, will 



THE IVY. 291 

be a matter of history, for future generations to 
marvel at, when the patient sufferers shall be num- 
bered with the saints in glory everlasting, when 
every tear shall have been wiped from their faces, 
and the Lamb be visibly reigning in the midst of 
them for ever. Yet even these ephemeral pages 
shall record it too ; and while suffering, as indeed I 
do, continual sorrow and heaviness in my heart for 
our brethren's sake, I will not refuse the consola- 
tions that abound on their behalf, in tracing the 
beautiful analogy that certainly exists between the 
natural world, as under the Providential govern- 
ment of its Creator, and the spiritual world of rege- 
nerate men, as more richly provided for in the 
covenant of grace. 

If I look upon that which is seen, how sad is the 
wintry state of my poor Ivy ! Some lofty trees 
planted near it have cast a goodly shadow upon it, 
yielding defence, alike from the burning ray, and 
the rending gale. I have seen them stand long, 
like appointed guardians, and if the defence of the 
Ivy had depended on their fidelity to the trust, alas 
for it in this day of calamity ! The trees have with- 
drawn their shade — they stand in naked helpless- 
ness, themselves driven to and fro, whithersoever 
the prince of the power of the air is pleased to bend 
their denuded and dishonoured branches. The pelt- 
ing hail, the heavy snow-drift, meet no obstruction 
from them, in their full career against the unpro- 
tected Ivy. It stands exposed, and in itself so weak 
u 2 



292 THE IVY. 

a thing that the operation of a single Mustering day 
would suffice to rend it peacemeal, only for the un- 
seen support enabling it to smile a calm defiance in 
the face of every assailant. And could any type be 
more impressively just, as regards the truly mili- 
tant church of Ireland at this day ? I shall say 
nothing about the towering trees : they have the 
advantage over sentient and responsible men, in 
that they never proffered their patronage in summer 
days, nor consciously withdrew it, when the wintry 
tempest began to rage. I reproach not the innocent 
trees of my garden ; but I acknowledge the fitness 
of their station, and of their mutability to render 
the similitude perfect. The Ivy is that wherewith 
I have to do ; the Ivy in its two-fold character of 
actual weakness, and imparted strength — of stormy 
persecution applied from without, and indestruc- 
tible endurance supplied from within. 

The real and acknowledged condition of many, 
and, in the south, a large majority, of the devoted 
ministers of the Irish church at this day, is such, 
that I shrink from the picture which I am never- 
theless bound to transcribe. They are impoverished 
beyond the possibility of making such provision as 
the meanest of our cottagers is accustomed to secure, 
against the approach of winter. They cannot clothe 
the shivering limbs of their tender little ones — they 
cannot supply them with nourishment equivalent 
to the scantiest allowance of our parochial work- 
house—they cannot, in many instances, afford the 



THE IVY. 293 

luxury of a fire, beyond the hour that it is in- 
dispensable for cooking their miserable dole of dry 
potatoes. I have the fact from authority that can- 
not be questioned, from one who, mercifully pro- 
vided with the resource of a private income, goes 
among his brethren to minister to their pressing 
necessities as far as the claims of his own very large 
family will allow. I have it from different and dis- 
tant quarters, from individuals unconnected with 
each other, and unconscious of the concurrent testi- 
mony that they yield. The Ivy on my garden-wall 
is not more destitute of external defence against the 
biting inclemency of December, than are multitudes 
of those whose delightful work it has ever been, 
when they saw the hungry, to feed him, to cover 
the naked with a garment, and to bring those who 
were cast out to their own hospitable homes. Their 
acknowledged right — that, at least, which the gov- 
ernment of the country has apportioned to them, 
and for generations past, guaranteed its due pay- 
ment — is withheld in vaunting defiance of that 
government, which, while meekly acquiescing in 
the sovereign will of rebellious subjects, offers no 
substitute for what their loyal ministers are de- 
frauded of ; but leaves them to famish, literally to 
starve to death with their children around them, until 
the senators of the land shall have enjoyed their ac- 
customed season of repose, and an arrangement shall 
take place among contending parties, by which the 
question of tithe may be ultimately adjusted. I 



294 THE IVY. 

venture not on political ground ; I have but to state 
the broad fact that the clergy of Ireland are starv- 
ing ;* and that the sole support to which they and 
their numerous households can look ; for the dreary 
season already set in upon us, is the spontaneous 
bounty of sympathizing friends in that part of the 
church which as yet tastes not the cup of external 
persecution. I know, and I bless God for it, that a 
stream of Christian liberality is flowing towards 
their desolated dwellings : but even the extremity 
of personal want does not end their sufferings. 
They dwell among those who are confederate against 
their lives ; and who, if the plan of starvation be 
baffled by our means, may again whet the knife, 
and aim the bullet, and brandish the heavy stone — 
weapons that have, each and all, within a short 
space of time, been crimsoned with the life-blood of 
Protestant clergymen. These are the storms and 
the tempests to which my brethren stand exposed in 
the defencelessness of individual weakness. Their 
children cry for food ; and that, we may provide 
for them : they shiver beneath the wintry blast, 
they shrink from the piercing frost ; and we may 
clothe their limbs, and rekindle their fires, from our 
own comparative abundance ; — but the parent's 
heart, though by grace it may be so humbled as 
not to reject a gift, painful to the educated mind, 
will yet secretly quake under the anticipated horror 

* Written in 1837. 



THE IVY. 295 

of that from which we cannot interpose to rescue 
them. The step of the midnight incendiary, of the 
sworn assassin, blessed to the deed of butchery by 
Her who has so oft been drunk with the blood of 
the saints, will be fancied in every breeze that 
rustles among the branches : and the closer we ex- 
amine the picture, the darker do its shades become 
— the more appalling those perils, in the midst of 
which our brethren are set, for the defence of the 
gospel. 

The Gospel — precious word ! It is the power of 
Him who says, " The Lord hath anointed me to 
preach good tidings unto the meek ; he hath sent 
me to bind up the broken-hearted ; to comfort all 
that mourn ; to appoint unto them that mourn in 
Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of 
joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the 
spirit of heaviness : that they might be called trees 
of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that 
He might be glorified." And glorified he is in them. 
The fruit which they bear is indeed clad in the hue 
of affliction, for his poor Church is militant against 
many foes, and exceedingly pressed above measure, 
seeming to have the sentence of death in themselves ; 
but he gives them a spirit of patient endurance, in- 
explicable in some cases but by the great mystery 
of faith, whereby, adhering to the Rock that cannot 
be moved, they derive strength according to their 
day. They stand, a miracle of supporting grace, 
" as sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing ; as poor, yet 



296 THE IVY. 

making many rich ; as having nothing, and yet pos- 
sessing all things." 

Many years ago, I planted an Ivy, and watched 
its growth with childish interest. Having fixed its 
root firmly in the soil, it speedily put forth shoots ; 
and as these grew, the short, stout fibres appeared, 
grasping the rough particles of an ancient wall, 
plunging into every little crevice, and securing them- 
selves by a process that excited my wonder beyond 
any thing that I can remember, at that period of 
my life. I have pulled away the young branches, 
endeavouring to refix them in a different position, 
but in vain : the work of adhesion was one that 
human skill could not accomplish, nor human power 
compel. The utmost that I could do, was to afford 
an artificial support to the detached branch, until, 
having continued its growth, it put out new fingers, 
as I called them, to take a stronger hold on its bul- 
wark. This might be very aptly illustrated by the 
past history of a Church, where faith might have 
become dead, as regarded a race of individuals ; but 
where, by that aid from without which may God in 
his mercy ever dispose the State to extend to the 
Church, better days were provided for ; and the 
visible branch restored to its pristine beauty and 
strength, through faith newly infused into the mem- 
bers, enabling them to cleave wholly to Christ. But 
my present business is with the Ivy in its mature 
state, upheld by the might of its immoveable sup- 
porter — with the persecuted men of whom it is a 



the ivy. 297 

lively type ; who, in the midst of all that renders 
the present agonizing, and the future terrific, can 
adopt the language of inspired Paul, "None of these 
things move me ; neither count I my life dear unto 
myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, 
and the ministry which I have received of the Lord 
Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God." 
Herein lies the mystery of that patient endurance, 
the deep and general silence of which made the very 
existence of their distress questionable among us. 
" To testify the gospel of the grace of God," was the 
object and end of all their labours ; and their will- 
ing task it was, after Paul's example, to learn, in 
whatsoever state they were, therewith to be content 
—they would know both how to be abased, and 
also how to abound ; everywhere and in all things, 
they were instructed, both to be full and to be hun- 
gry, both to abound and to suffer need. Yea, they 
can do all things through Christ, which 
strengtheneth them. It is by close communion 
with Him that his afflicted servants are enabled 
thus to glorify God in the day of visitation — to glo- 
rify him in the fires. He has taught them that he 
careth for them : and they, unreservedly, cast every 
care upon him : yet, like Paul to the beloved Phi • 
lippians, they will say to us, " Notwithstanding, ye 
have well done, that ye did communicate with my 
affliction." Oh that we could rightly appreciate 
the value of such an example at our very doors, of 
suffering according to the will of God ! But all 



298 THE IVY. 

cannot realize the scenes now enacting in poor Ire- 
land ; and few there are whom I could invite to 
weep with me beneath the storm-beaten Ivy. 

But what a spectacle does it present in the sight 
of that great cloud of witnesses who encompass it ! 
They, who through faith and patience, have already 
inherited the promises, how must they rejoice over 
their militant brethren, marching onward, through 
much tribulation, to swell the army of that Church 
triumphant ! Bodily anguish, cold, hunger, and 
the yet more grievous pain of beholding those de- 
pendent on them sharing in their privations — men- 
tal inquietude, as the future lot in life of their desti- 
tute little ones, will force itself on their anxious 
thought — abandonment on the one hand, on the 
other, barbarous exultation ; the muttered curse of 
the vindictive, deluded peasant, the heartless scoff, 
and ribald jest of the far more degraded, though 
nattered and pensioned poet — these are the lot of 
men of whom the world is not worthy ; and cruel 
they are to poor shrinking humanity. But they 
endure " as seeing Him who is invisible," and 
though now they prophesy in sackcloth, and by and 
by they may be slain, still Christ has prepared for 
them a kingdom, which, after a little while they 
shall receive, becoming kings and priests unto God. 

It is of those who, like the Ivy, cling by living 
faith unto the Rock of salvation, that I thus speak. 
I speak not of the Church, nor of her ministry, as 
though an outward profession, or formal ordination, 



THE IVY. 299 

could knit the soul to Christ. There is dross in the 
furnace, no less than gold. Many suffer compulso- 
rily. who would not endure an hour's affliction for 
Christ and his gospel. But the patient servants of 
God are known unto Him ; and they are so many 
as now to characterize the whole Church. Some 
straggling shoots disfigure mylvy, which hang upon 
it but to be lopped off : yet the plant clings to its 
supporter, and those unsightly exceptions alter it 
not. It looks green ; and its polished leaves, dark 
in themselves, reflect the brightness of day. I know 
that the appointed season of winter must endure for 
a while ; but I also know that the spring -tide shall 
not fail. A time of refreshing shall come from the 
presence of the Lord, to bid his suffering saints re- 
joice. ;; Then the ransomed of the Lord shall return, 
and come to Zion with songs, and everlasting joy 
upon their heads : they shall obtain gladness and 
joy: and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. 



CHAPTER XXV. 



THE AMARANTHUS. 



It is not in the power of winter, however severe 
and sweeping in its operations among the flowers, 
to deprive me of all my store. Though every leaf 
should wither, and every root become a mass of cor- 
ruption, and not a blossom remain in the conserva- 
tory, I am always provided, not only with one, but 
a complete bouquet of bright and showy flowers. 
The Amaranthus, in all its varieties of form and 
colour, with everlastings of purple or of gold, and a 
rich assemblage of grasses that appear quite inde- 
structible, form this magic group. I bought it in 
the street, of a poor, sickly-looking aged woman, 
who evidently wanted the price of her i Christmas 
posy ' to supply the cravings of hunger ; but this 
common-place mode of acquisition by no means les- 
sened the interest of the purchase. What has been 
touched by the poor, possesses a peculiar character 




THE AMARANTH!) S. 



THE AMARAXTHUS. 301 

in my eyes : and I could not but think, when tak- 
ing the gay bouquet from a withered hand, how ten- 
derly the Lord provides for their wants, whom we 
so little consider in the midst of our festivities. 

The intense cold that followed, soon left my win- 
ter nosegay without a rival, and excepting the bor- 
der of box that encircled it, not a change has yet 
appeared, not a tint has faded, not a leaf fallen. 
These flowers are an exception to the general rule : 
they have been cut down, yet neither dried up nor 
withered ; even the i flower of grass,' that impressive 
emblem of man's glory and goodliness, waves in its 
pristine grace, and shines brightly when a sun-beam 
falls aslant upon the cluster. I must needs apply 
this : not indeed to an individual, but to a race, far 
more to be wondered at than these imperishable 
flowers. A race long since deprived of the life-giving 
fatness of the root * dead, yet continually before us 
in all the realit}^ of bustling life. Need I name 
them ? — the Lord's own ancient people, the dispersed 
of Judah, the ' nation scattered and peeled,' and 
trodden under foot ; familiar with every storm that 
can rage without, and preyed upon by every corrupt 
principle within, separated from the stem, deprived 
of spiritual nutriment, yet surviving all : and des- 
tined to survive, in pre-eminent glory, the pride of 
that earth which now scorns them. Oh, I cannot 
look upon the unfading Amaranthus without recall- 
ing those precious words, " I have loved thee with 
an everlasting love." I read in it at once the pro- 



302 THE AMARANTHUS. 

mise and its fulfilment ; I see what the Lord has 
said he would do : I see what he actually does, and 
I know assuredly what he will yet do. I have no 
more doubt of the literal restoration of Judah and 
Israel to the literal Canaan, — no more doubt that 
in their own land " they shall possess the double," 
and shine the brightest in a bright and glorious 
church on earth, — than I have of my existence. 
The time is not far off when the Lord will be gra- 
cious to his land, and pity his people ; when he will 
heal their hurt, and gather them, and watch over 
them to do them good, and shew the world how 
dearly his poor Israel is ( loved for the fathers' sake/ 
The whole church sends up the petition, " Thy king- 
dom come," and the coming of that kingdom will 
be to the despised Jew a receiving again into God's 
favour ; and that receiving again of the Jew shall 
be to the Gentiles, " life from the dead." 

Indissolubly connected w T ith this delightful sub- 
ject is the name, the image of one who has often 
rejoiced with me over those sweet promises to Israel, 
which none can gainsay without depriving the holy 
scriptures of all literal meaning, and debasing them 
into a cluster of shadows. He was a Gentile by birth, 
but in spirit an Israelite indeed, in whom was no 
guile. Awake to all that concerned the kingdom 
and glory of our Lord Jesus Christ, he was pecu- 
liarly alive to the rich portion secured to the chil- 
dren of Abraham ; and dearly did he prize the pri- 
vilege of devoting himself to them. Often have I 



THE AMARANTHUS. 303 

seen him, in his pulpit, with the little ones of the 
Hebrew schools ranged in the opposite gallery, catch- 
ing new zeal., new energy, new confidence from a 
glance at that precious charge : and often have 'I 
beheld him, in the midst of the Hebrew boys, lost in 
thoughtful contemplation of the harvest that should 
follow that first-fruits' offering, presented in faith 
and hope. I have also known him send for a con- 
siderable number of the children to his own hos- 
pitable abode, and range them before him, and hold 
sweet converse with them concerning their own 
Messiah, the Prince. There was no flashing enthu- 
siasm about him, but a deep, calm, settled conviction 
that Israel should yet be gathered, and that in hav- 
ing his own portion of labour assigned in that field, 
he was honoured above all others. He was a man 
of thought, of study, and of prayer, and this was 
the element wherein he dwelt— the exceeding great 
and precious promises given to the children of the 
fathers and the prophets. Others might rise in the 
church, or seek the promotion of their worldly in- 
terest ; to him it sufficed that he came within the 
scope of that oft-repeated declaration, " Blessed is 
he that blesseth Thee." 

Seven }^ears have now passed since I sojourned 
under that roof, with the good old Simeon for my 
fellow-guest ; and very dear to me is the recollec- 
tion. I had before been privileged there beyond all 
other places ; I had caught some sparkles from the 
brilliant, though eccentric flashes of Wolff, and had 



304 THE AMARANTHUS. 

identified myself with a little circle whose great 
bond of union was the heart's desire and prayer to 
God for Israel, that they might be saved ; and whose 
hourly study was to devise plans for forwarding the 
blessed work. I had sat, many a summer's day, 
under the tall, branching tulip-trees, that threw their 
refreshing shadow on the smooth grass-plat : and 
while the lovely group of youthful faces — for my 
friend had a goodly array of olive-branches round 
about his table — added life and beauty to the scene 
in itself most sweet, I have conversed with him and 
his beloved partner on the coming day, when Israel 
should sit each one under his own vine and under 
his own fig-tree, with none to make them afraid. 

At the period of my first and successive visits, 
there was one present also, whose joyous temper 
brought mirth into every circle. They loved him 
much, and greatly did he enjoy the social freedom 
that dwelt there. A thousand little incidents crowd 
on my recollection as I recal those days : but Mr. 
H. knew and deeply sympathized in my chief soli- 
citude for that beloved one ; and I trust they are 
now rejoicing together in the presence of the Lamb. 
Never can I forget the sweet words of comfort given 
me by Mr. H. when the terrible stroke of sudden 
bereavement fell upon me. ' Oh, my sister, our God 
is all-powerful : even the " Lord save me " of drown- 
ing Peter was enough.' There was a fitness in the 
application, ignorant as we then were of the state 
of that beloved object's mind, which met the case 



THE AMARANTHUS, 305 

exactly, and proved a word in due season to a faint- 
ing heart. My last visit was made in a wintry sea- 
son, and under circumstances of a peculiar desola- 
tion. He who brightened us all by his sunshiny 
presence, had long been laid beneath the sod ; it was 
not yet green over the dumb boy's grave ; and other 
circumstances combined to depress me unusually. 
My friend also was declining in health, and sorely 
exercised in mind by the perplexities recently intro- 
duced into the church by his most beloved associate 
— the brilliant, but sadly deluded and deluding Irving. 
He was absorbed in many anxious thoughts, and 
the presence of Mr. Simeon proved most cheering 
to us all. The glorious subject of Israel's redemp- 
tion occupied each heart, and dwelt on every tongue : 
and truly I can say, that, like the Amaranthus, my 
valued friend shone in bright contrast to the winter 
around him, while dwelling on that " everlasting 
love " which is pledged to accomplish the deliver- 
ance of God's people. 

The hours were dearly prized by me, little as I 
anticipated a speedy separation of the parent from 
his children, the husband from his partner, and the 
pastor from his flock. I saw him but once again, 
and that was upon the platform of a densely-crowded 
meeting, when unexpectedly, he rose for a few mo- 
ments, to avow himself the author of a testimony 
against the withering and blasting influence of So- 
cinianism, in a society to which he was warmly at- 
tached. He rose, indeed, like an apparition ; and if 
x 



306 THE AMARANTHUS. 

I was pained at the emaciated figure and pallid as- 
pect — so changed from what he had even a few 
weeks before appeared — still more did I rejoice and 
glory in the stedfast though meek determination 
with which the disciple voluntarily stood forth to 
acknowledge how zealously he was affected in a 
good thing — how jealous of the least possible taint 
on the doctrine of the great God, his Saviour. He 
made his avowal, looked calmly round upon a thou- 
sand frowning brows, and resumed his seat, beyond 
my ken. It was a striking incident, rendered inde- 
lible by the subsequent removal of that faithful ser- 
vant from the vineyard below to the resting-place 
above. Once more I visited, for a few hours, the 
mansion of hospitality and love ; the tulip-trees 
were in full beauty, the lawn was soft and verdant 
as ever, the vine mantled richly over the windows, 
and flowers in gay profusion breathed their sweet 
perfume through the closed shutters. I could not 
look out upon what was so fair : a glance toward 
the one object that lay concealed beneath a black 
pall, never more to be unveiled to mortal eye, filled 
my heart, to the exclusion of earth's brightest beau- 
ties. I thought on the outcasts of Israel and the 
dispersed of Judah : — I thought, how often had those 
lips breathed the language, "Turn ye, turn ye; why 
will ye die, house of Israel?" — how frequently 
those lifeless hands had dispensed the water of bap- 
tism, and the consecrated elements of the Lord's 
Supper, to such as obeyed the call : and how high 



THE AMARANTHUS. 307 

that heart had beat in holy exultation over the lost 
sheep so gathered back into the fold. One short sen- 
tence of inspiration expressed what no tongue of 
man or angel could otherwise have uttered, " Blessed 
is he that blesseth Thee ! " 

Sitting down to supper with Abraham, Isaac, and 
Jacob, in the kingdom of God, is our Lord's own 
description of the privileges reserved for such as be 
Abraham's children by faith ; and, blessed be His 
holy name ! — there is no difference of Jew or Gen- 
tile in that consummation of eternal felicity. But 
I cannot imagine with what eye or with what un- 
derstanding those persons read the bible, who see 
there no especial reference to the continued elder - 
brotherhood of the literal Israelite, even to the end 
of the world : or who consider that in the wide pro- 
mulgation of the Gospel for which we are taught to 
look and to pray, the converted Jew will not be 
made a chosen and peculiarly-honoured instrument 
in the Lord's hands. Not that I expect the king- 
doms of this world to become the kingdom of our 
God and of his Christ, by a quiet extension of the 
truth. No, I believe that the wine-press of wrath 
must first be trodden, and the enemies of the Son be 
broken to pieces — dashed asunder like the shreds of 
a potter's vessel. I believe that Great Babylon, 
papal Rome, must come in remembrance before 
him, and receive the cup of the fierceness of the 
wrath of Almighty God, in recompense for the wine 
of the wrath of her fornications, wherewith she has 
x 2 



308 THE AMARANTHUS. 

seduced the kings of the earth, and hlasphemed the 
Most High. I believe that the whole company of 
Antichrist, papal and infidel, must be violently over- 
thrown, and the day of vengeance usher in the year 
of the redeemed of the Lord. It is in combination 
with all this, that I look for the full in -gathering of 
God's ancient people, their re-establishment in the 
land which he gave unto their fathers, to Abraham 
and his seed for ever, the restoration of that land to 
more than its pristine fertility, and the abundant 
going forth of the law of the Lord from Jerusalem ; 
by means of his own reconciled Israel — once more, 
and in a higher sense than ever, a royal priesthood, 
a peculiar people, a blessing to the uttermost ends of 
the earth. 

When it first pleased God,by his Spirit, to open my 
understanding to those things which are foolishness 
to the natural man, and before I enjoyed the privi- 
lege of communion, by word or letter, with any of 
his people, I was so powerfully struck by the dis- 
tinctness of the promises given to the literal seed of 
Abraham, that I often devised plans for sending forth 
fishers to fish, and hunters to hunt for them ; often 
prayed over the ninth chapter of Daniel ; and longed 
to proclaim to others, that which I supposed a new 
discovery — that Israel should again blossom and bud, 
and fill the world with fruit. I know not whether 
my surprise or my joy was the greater, on being 
told, after a long while, that an extensive and in- 
creasing society was in actual operation to this very 



THE AMARANTHUS. 309 

end : and however slightly I may have seemed to 
regard the subject, under the conviction that my 
own line of service was marked in a different path, 
I think there is no prospect of spiritual blessedness, 
or temporal prosperity for Christ's church, presented 
to my mind, wherein " the Jew first" is not re- 
cognized. Yes, like my winter nosegay, so bright 
in death, the several shoots of that venerable stem, 
which have yet a name to live and are dead, speak 
the language of assured promise to me. The root 
that bore them still survives, a perennial, destined 
to bloom again in the multitude of its blossoms, and 
to send forth many an oft-set to other gardens, 
where the Lord shall plant them, and keep them, 
and water them every moment. 

It is a bitter ingredient in the overflowing curse 
of Rome, that, pagan or papal, she has ever perse- 
cuted the Jews. That brand is imprinted so deeply, 
that the fires now kindling for her will not burn it 
out : — " Cursed is he that curseth thee." It is the 
singular privilege of poor Ireland that she is totally 
free from this stigma, so widely extended over Eu- 
rope ; and it is well known how, in her deep 
poverty, the riches of her liberality have abounded 
towards the missionary work now carried on among 
the Hebrew people ; and shall not poor Ireland one 
day set her seal, despised and forsaken as she now 
is, to the equally sure record, " Blessed is he that 
blesseth Thee." God's blaspheming enemy is still 
permitted, to a great extent, to trample down one 



010 THE AMARANTHUS. 

who never set her foot upon the neck of God's pros- 
trate people : but all these things are had in remem- 
brance before him, and when he maketh inquisition 
for blood he will not forget it. The Amaranthus is 
a treasury of precious thought, recollections, pro- 
mises, and hopes — connected with the most glorious 
subject that can possibly occupy the mind of man — 
the coining, kingdom, and glory of the Messiah. Oh, 
that he would shortly accomplish the number of his 
elect, and hasten that hour ! The world is lying 
dead around ; the torpor of indifference is only va- 
ried by the tumult of tempestuous strife. The 
pleasures of earth, like the gay flowers that fell be- 
fore the frost, perish in the using, and thorns stand 
out in naked savageness to mock the eye that seeks 
for the fair mantle that once concealed them. Be- 
numbed or torn away, all has so eluded my grasp, 
that while casting a glance around, I am tempted to 
inquire, Did flowers ever bloom here ; or can they 
again make bright this desolated ground ? But the 
lovely Amaranthus smiles an answer, conveying to 
my soul that sublime word, " I am the Lord ; I 
change not." Yea, and while humbly pleading the 
privilege of an ingrafted Gentile branch, partaking 
of the root and fatness of the parent tree, I am en- 
abled to receive, on behalf of the literal Israel, the 
full pledge, the immutable promise founded on the 
immutability of Him who has spoken it : — " I am 
the Lord ; I change not : therefore ye sons of 
Jacob are not consumed." 




THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

Page 331 . 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

Spring is yet young ; and the severity of a biting 
winter has retarded the appearance of much that 
would, in milder seasons, have shown itself. It was 
unreasonable to stroll with inquiring looks into the 
shady corner of my little garden allotted to that 
lovely summer flower, the Lily of the Valley, and 
examine the unstirred earth for tokens of what I 
had as yet no right to expect. The flower was be- 
fore my mental eye, in all the delicate grace for 
which it is so conspicuous : and the train of thought 
whence originated my premature search, will not 
allow itself to be banished. I must, then, forestal 
the Lily, and permit imagination to furnish the 
type, while in sorrowful reality the antitype engrosses 
my feelings. 

It is now some years since the association was 
formed between the flower and the individual : far 



312 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

more probable it was, in the course of nature, and 
under existing circumstances, that both should have 
bent over my humble grave, than that the secret 
link which my fancy formed between them should 
ever be recorded in these faint outlines of the de- 
parted. But thus the Lord has willed ; and we 
poor children of mortality can only lay our mouths 
to kindred dust, and say, " Even so, Father." 
Flowers often appear to me to have been made for 
the express purpose of affording admonition to the 
fair and blooming : at least in their wrecked condi- 
tion. I know not if the flowers in the garden that 
Adam was set to dress and to keep were perishable 
before his act of sin brought death into the world : 
I only know that now "the grass withereth, the 
flower fadeth ;" and in sad unison w T ith them "the 
fashion of this world passeth away." And "as for 
man, his days are as grass : as a flower of the field, 
so he flourisheth." We naturally bear witness to 
the beauty and applicability of the symbol, even 
before it has been brought home to our hearts by an 
unwilling appropriation — before the bright blossom 
that decked our own bower has been prostrated at 
our feet by the rending blast, the devouring worm, 
or the mysterious process of unexplained decay ; 
but when that has occurred — when the flower to 
which the loved one was likened becomes the sad 
remembrancer of what has left our sight for ever, 
how thrilling is the appeal contained in those nume- 
rous passages of holy writ that afford us a higher 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 313 

than human authority for the symbol that naturally 
commends itself to the mind ! 

When I first beheld Zelia, she was as yet a bride ; 
and certainly the loveliness of her aspect could not 
be surpassed. I had heard of her as being singularly 
handsome ; but the portraiture my fancy drew came 
far short of the original. Her tall, elegant form, 
the exquisite symmetry of her features, and that 
delicate transparency of complexion that distin- 
guishes the maidens of her native country — the 
land of soft zephyrs and gentle dews — struck me at 
once as entitling her to a place among the fairest 
flowers of the garden ; and a subsequent acquaint- 
ance, bringing under my observation the quiet hu- 
mility, retiring modesty, and child-like simplicity 
of her character, assigned her a locality, the fitness 
of which none who knew her could dispute. In 
loveliness, delicacy, grace, and sweetness, Zelia 
claimed to be the Lily of the Valley among my 
treasures. She would have smiled, with a further 
resemblance to the innocent and happy-looking 
flower, had she heard me say so : but she knew it 
not. I have seen her fair face bent over these chap- 
ters, with emotion heightening its bloom, little 
thinking that they were to become the record of her 
own short transit across my path. 

Never did the most enthusiastic florist watch the 
pride and glory of his parterre as I have seen the 
appointed cherisher of Zelia fulfil his happy charge. 
Ardent and affectionate even beyond the common 



314 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

characteristic of his race, he superintended the 
transplantation of his delicate blossom to this 
rougher atmosphere from the more genial west ; 
and even when the lip restrained its language, 
which was not always the case, I have marked the 
proud glance scanning a whole cluster of fair girls, 
as in defiance of any competitor who should dispute 
the palm of beauty with her. I have marked it, 
and trembled ; for I knew the frailty of the tenure 
whereby he held his treasure ; and in the very tena- 
city of his grasp I read an augury of bereavement. 
Yet the contrast gave a finish to the picture ; his 
passionate admiration threw a light, as it w T ere, on 
the beauty of her calm unconsciousness of that 
which called it forth. I never traced in her look or 
gesture a movement of vanity : nor observed a ruffle 
on her quiet aspect, save when disturbed by solici- 
tude for his peace, whose extreme sensitiveness laid 
him open to many a wound that would have been 
an unfelt collision to one of colder temperament. 
' Awake to the flowers,' he was peculiarly liable to 
be c touched by the thorns ; ' little would he have 
heeded them had he foreseen the poignard that was 
being sharpened for the bosom of his earthly peace 
and joy ! 

The tenderness of her concern for him rendered 
her delicate constitution more susceptible of injury : 
some severe trials of health quite undermined it ; 
but we thought this Lily of the Valley would prove 
as enduring as her hardy, though delicate-looking 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 315 

type, which fades, indeed, and hows its head be- 
neath the sod under a rough visitation, yet starts 
up again with the reviving year, and re -asserts its 
pre-eminence of place among the ornaments of the 
earth. Zelia, restored to the full bloom of health, 
and in the increased radiance of beauty, was, by 
the will of God, removed from the comparative re- 
tirement where we had met, to a scene so far dissi- 
milar, that had I not known her to have been a 
child of God, I should have despaired of her retain- 
ing the resemblance to my simple Lily. It was so 
far the path of duty that no choice could be exer- 
cised : but the call which fixed the sphere of her 
husband's labours in the midst of metropolitan soci- 
ety, exposed them both to the deadliest of all snares, 
popularit}^ and adulation. 

Poor, blind, unbelieving creatures that we are ! 
If a man but devote himself to a pursuit, if he rear 
and nurse a flower for his proper credit and renown, 
no less than his pleasure, we never suspect that he 
will carelessly leave it, in its promise of prime, to 
be rent by the gale or trampled by the hoof. We 
trust him that for his own sake he will guard the 
work of his hands. But even this poor measure of 
confidence we are slow to place in Him who plants 
trees of righteousness that he in them may be glori- 
fied. Knowing that the Lord doth not afflict will- 
ingly, nor grieve the children of men, we cannot 
doubt the meaning of his dispensations. If we pass 
by, and miss the flower, and behold no vestige thereof 



316 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

in its wonted place, what are we to conclude, but 
that the careful gardener foresaw some coming storm, 
or the rude intrusion of some defiling tread, and 
housed the delicate shrub from harm 1 Oh, it would 
have been sad to see the petals of the beauteous lily 
withering under a burning sun, or disfigured by the 
reptile's trailing course, or bruised and prostrate in 
the unclean soil from which it had been lifted to 
bloom in the pure atmosphere of heaven. It was 
better to contemplate the vacant spot, and to mourn 
over a temporary separation, with the sweet assur- 
ance that such occurred only because the Author of 
its being would preserve it unharmed and undefiled, 
to flourish in his presence, far removed from every 
foe. 

It was by no lingering ailment that the removal 
of our sweet Lily of the Valley was effected. She 
had bided her time, and rejoiced that a man was 
born into the world, and smiled back, in returning 
convalescence, the fond father's redoubled delight as 
he looked on the soft blossom that reposed on her 
pillow. But the pestilence walking in darkness 
found unsuspected admission to the scene — she was 
no subject for its sharp visitation— a few, a very 
few short days, and no more remained of that young 
wife and mother than what claimed the last sad 
office of agonized love— to be shrouded in darkness, 
and laid low, till the morning shall break that will 
know no closing night ; till the Lord himself shall 
descend from heaven with a shout ; with the voice 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 017 

of the Archangel, and the trump of God ; till the 
life -restoring mandate is issued, " Gather my saints 
together unto me," and the dead in Christ, rising 
first, shall encircle the throne of Him who comes 
not again to suffer, hut to reign ; and to fulfil the 
blessed promise that they who here suffered with 
him shall then reign with him also. 

' If we suffer with him ' — it is a startling c if.' 
Suffer We must, for w T e are born to it, in virtue of 
our inbred guilt and corruption ; but to suffer with 
Christ is a mysterious privilege, alike inaccessible 
and unintelligible to the carnal mind. He alone 
who knows that Christ has suffered for him can 
suffer with Christ. It is not ours, as in the days of 
the infant or awakening church, to receive the cup 
of persecution : the sword does not flash above our 
heads, nor the faggot kindle at our feet ; nor are the 
untamed beasts of the wood let loose upon our 
bodies. But since to suffer with Christ is the de- 
creed pathway to the kingdom of his glory, w T e may 
rest assured that He who has secured the end will 
prepare the appointed road. To contemplate the 
Saviour in his humiliation and affliction, and to arm 
ourselves with the like mind, is all that rests with 
us. " Be still ; and know that I am God," is alike 
the language of preparative warning, and of subse- 
quent support. It is a terrible lesson for flesh to 
learn — yea, impossible that flesh should ever learn 
it : but that which is contrary to the flesh receives 
the stroke, and bends, with the might of a renewed 



318 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

will, the otherwise immoveable sinew of the neck. 
Oh, the stupendous working that achieved the sub- 
lime victory when " Aaron held his peace !" 

But nature, thus subdued, is not crushed beneath 
the iron fetters of a pitiless conqueror. " Cast down, 
but not destroyed," she weeps, and finds the tender- 
est of all sympathy in him whose mercy smote be- 
cause he loved. We know that the flower is but 
removed from the breath of uncongenial air, and in 
that we cannot mourn ; but the eye has lost its de- 
light, the heart its treasure, the home its sweetest 
charm. How desolate now, and blighted appears 
the spot that was as the garden of Eden ! How 
cold and comfortless the earth that her presence 
clad in beauty ! It would seem as though the very 
sunbeam was only attracted by the flower ; and 
now on the naked soil it strikes harshly and gla- 
ringly, repelling the gaze that it formerly gladdened. 
An unsupplied want oppresses the mind ; a strange 
vacancy sickens the heart. Restless, wearied, terri- 
fied at the newness of his position, where shall the 
mourner find a solace commensurate with his need ? 
In this — " If we suffer with Him we shall also reign 
with Him." There is an immeasurable distance 
between submission to the cross and acceptance of 
it. Simon the Cyrenian, compelled to bear it, and 
Paul glorying in his infirmities, that the power of 
Christ might rest on him, are the representatives of 
two classes whom man may confound, but who are 
severally discerned of God. The one bends in silent 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 319 

acquiescence beneath the burden that a stronger 
hand has fixed beyond his power to shake off : the 
other regards his affliction as a heaven-appointed 
means of bringing him to a fuller participation in 
what Christ's sufferings have purchased for him — 
even that strength proportioned to his day, which is 
doubly precious as being a fulfilled promise. A 
strength that he marvels at — perhaps almost mur- 
murs to find so mighty : for the disposition of the 
heart is that of Jonah, when fainting he wished in 
himself to die, and said, " It is better for me to die 
than to live." It loves to brood over the loss, to 
conjure up a thousand torturing phantoms of past 
happiness, and to contrast the present gloom with 
the most vivid of all the day-beams that preceded it. 
Under this influence, many a mind has wrought 
itself to frenzy, and either become a wreck — a blank 
in the intellectual world, or nerved the hand to the 
commission of a crime for which there is no repent- 
ance. No ! nature does not welcome the voice that, 
coming with power to appease the tempest, says, 
" Be still, and know that I am God." Poor comfort 
indeed it were to receive that message, if its purport 
respected only the absolute sovereignty with which 
he wields the power of life and death ! The expe- 
rience of one whose pride had been crushed into the 
dust of earth, and his glory changed into unexam- 
pled vileness, and who had learned to tremble before 
Omnipotence, suggested that sublime language, "All 
the inhabitants of the earth are reputed as nothing ; 



320 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

and he doeth according to his will in the army of 
heaven, and among the inhahitants of the earth, and 
none can stay his hand, or say unto him, What 
doest thou 1 " But such helpless submission to irre- 
sistible power belongs not to the Christian. To 
him the declaration, " I am God," comes united 
with the sweet assurance, " I am love." The hand 
that smote him was guided, not by despotic autho- 
rity, but by compassionate tenderness. He knows 
God as one who doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve 
the children of men. It pleased the Lord to bruise 
his beloved Son : to put Him to grief in whom he 
delighted, and to deal with Him as a sinner, who 
did no sin. And this was love — infinite, everlasting 
love, in its highest exercise. The Christian knows 
it to be so ; and he is still, even in spite of the des- 
perate struggles of corrupt nature, desiring to rebel ; 
for in the Godhead of his Master he acknowledges 
the pledge of power to save to the uttermost ; and 
he joyfully takes hold of the strength that prostrates 
and paralyzes another. It is an amazing work, so 
to subdue the will of man ; and in the mightiness of 
its operation the mourner feels not only that his 
God can do all things with him, but that he, poor 
worm as he is, can also do all things through Christ 
who strengthened him. 

These are solemn seasons indeed, when God pre- 
sents himself to the soul which he has afflicted, and 
says, " Lovest thou me?" And if the soul be ena- 
bled in sincerity to answer, with Peter, " Lord, thou 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 321 

knowest that I love thee ; " the stillness of spirit 
succeeeding that colloquy, when the Lord being in 
his temple, all that is earthly keeps silence before 
Him, is perhaps the nearest approach to heavenly 
peace that his redeemed people can know while yet 
in the body. The heart knows that it may sorrow : 
that no prohibition has been uttered to stifle the 
voice of woe. Rachael was not chid when she wept 
for her children ; and that grief in itself is perfectly 
innocent, who shall deny, when we point to the 
Holy One, " a man of sorrows, and acquainted with 
grief," throughout the whole course of his visible 
abode among the sons of Adam. The stillness com- 
manded is not that of apathy or of indifference, or 
of forced acquiescence : it is a patient waiting for 
the promised crown, while bending under the pre- 
dicted cross. 

The Lily of the Valley will shortly appear as 
tranquilly beautiful as ever, as gracefully mantled 
in its broad leaf, as rich in the fragrancy of its de- 
lighted perfume. And shall the feeling be denounced 
as unsubmissive that draws a sorrowing contrast 
between the gardener's acquisition and the mourn- 
er's bereavement ? If so, I claim my portion of the 
censure ; for I shall assuredly lament over it, and 
wish the flower that I love had been altogether blot- 
ted from the fair face of creation, so that the hus- 
band had not been widowed, or the babe left mother- 
less. The form and the hue that bring her with 

Y 



322 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

more vivid fidelity before my recollection will almost 
appear intrusive ; for nature secretly says, c Why 
should these pale blossoms be found in their wonted 
station, while the place that knew her, knows her, 
alas ! no more for ever V But although thus coldly 
greeted, the beauteous Lily will be dearer than be- 
fore, for it brings a message of hope, ripening, as I 
contemplate it, into joy. 

Last autumn I had occasion, through some changes 
in the arrangement of my little garden, to take up 
the roots of the Lily of the Valley for an hour. It 
was a hackneyed subject, I confess, but while look- 
ing on the small unsightly heap, as it lay at my feet, 
I could not but be struck anew with the wonder- 
working skill that was to weave such a tissue of 
elegance and loveliness from materials so unpromis- 
ing. For the hundredth time I pondered over the 
nothingness of man in his best estate, supposing the 
uttermost of his power and craft to be expended on 
one of those ordinary objects. Deprived of the aid 
of three elements, earth, air, and water, could he, 
by any effort, cause it to reproduce the form that, 
if left to the unassisted operation of those elements, 
it would certainly exhibit ? Impossible : he might 
by violence destroy the principle of vegetable life ; 
but to call it into action, otherwise than by the 
way that divine wisdom had appointed, was beyond 
the reach of his contrivance. Glorious in creation, 
how much more glorious is the Lord our God in re- 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 323 

demption ! Man may reach the main-spring of his 
fellow's mortal existence, and wrench it away, and 
stop the complicated machinery in its course ; but 
neither man nor Satan can approach the life of the 
soul, when restored by him who first breathed into 
Adam's nostrils " the breath of life." Dying in 
Adam, made alive in Christ, he that believeth on 
the Son of God hath everlasting life. It is a prize 
in possession, not in prospect — it is what no power 
could confer but that which in giving stamps the 
gift with immortality. 

I buried the roots again, and smoothed over them 
the earth, and left a little stick to mark where I 
might confidently look for their re-appearance in 
due season. And she, the fair, the gentle Zelia, — 
she too has been laid low beneath the surface of the 
ground, and the sod is growing smooth above her, 
and the record of lamented love distinguishes it 
from surrounding heaps. Many a successive crop 
of Lilies of the Valley may rise and bloom, fade and 
die, before the appointed time of her bright change 
shall come. But come it will ; the Lord will have 
a desire to the work of his hands. He will call, 
and she will answer. Imagination cannot realize 
the scene, when the vile body — vile at its best estate 
— shall be changed like unto Christ's glorious body, 
and become like Him. Imagination cannot look 
into those glorious revelations ; but faith, which is 
the evidence of things unseen, beholds it all. Affec- 

Y 2 



324 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

tion itself sorrows not as being without hope ; and 
that hope, that precious hope, steals upon the lace- 
rated heart, sweetly whispering the promise, and 
bidding the mourners in Zion " comfort one another 
with these words." 



THE END. 



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